


Belonging

by KopyKunoichi



Series: The Mandalorian Chronicles [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 103,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KopyKunoichi/pseuds/KopyKunoichi
Summary: "A bounty hunter, a merc, and a baby...it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.  And yet, they had made it work."When the Mandalorian helps Cara Dune out of a pinch, she ends up tagging along with him.  Over time, the two of them go from partners to friends, and then from friends to family.  Cara begins to feel the carefully constructed walls around her heart crumbling as she finds peace, purpose, and belonging in the most unexpected of places.But when two very persistent bounty hunters begin dogging their trail - threatening to take it all away from her - Cara discovers her feelings for her found family may run deeper than she realized. How far will she go to hang on to the man and the child she has grown to love?
Relationships: Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: The Mandalorian Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685857
Comments: 249
Kudos: 665





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Cara Dune slammed her boot into the small table she had been seated at moments before, knocking it on its side and taking cover behind it as blaster fire ripped through the air above her. The screams of panicked patrons and the smell of scorched plaster filled the hole-in-the-wall cantina she had sought for some peace and quiet after a long day. So much for that.

She pulled her own blaster and returned fire at the three - no, four - thugs who had stormed into the building. They spread out and ducked behind their own tables, but she managed to hit one of them before he was completely out of sight. She wasn’t sure if he was dead though, and she didn’t have time to verify it. The room was small the other three were advancing, each taking turns creeping closer as the others laid down cover fire.

She needed to move fast - she was too vulnerable in the middle of the room. She usually picked an inconspicuous corner table rather than a central location in places like this, but the choice tables had been occupied and she had settled for a spot in the middle of the room with a good view of the front and back door. It had been a mistake, but at least she was fortunate that these idiots hadn’t the foresight to come in both entrances at once - because she would have been fragged if they had.

One more mercy, the table she was taking cover behind was round. She squeezed off a few shots toward the left side of the room where two of her assailants were approaching, while rolling her table on its edge toward the right side of the room. Staying as low as her 5 feet, 8 inches would allow her, she maneuvered behind the counter of the bar. As she ducked around the corner, a shot came dangerously close to her shoulder - this one from her side of the room. Catching a glimpse of Thug Number Three skirting the wall toward her, she took aim and dropped him. Now, unless the first guy she hit wasn’t down for good, she only had the two on the other side of the room to deal with.

They had stopped firing for a moment and the room became eerily still, the other patrons and staff having fled. She took a quick inventory of what was on the shelves behind the bar. Booze, booze, booze - her eyes lighted on something dark and metallic and a smirk tugged one corner of her mouth up. She closed her fingers around the grip of the old Imperial blaster rifle in her left hand, checked the charge, and steeled herself before standing up. She opened fire with both handgun and rifle, peppering the overturned tables and debris on the far side of the room. One of the goons caught a bolt square in the chest as he attempted to flee and the other ended up eviscerated as the card table he was using for cover gave way to the onslaught of continuous fire.

Cara eyed the destruction, and debated her next move. The job she had been hired to do here was done. She had helped free the locals of this town from a small-time crime boss who had been terrorizing them. The boss was behind bars awaiting justice and these were the very last of his hired hands, too stupid to know when to quit. She glanced around the room, spotting the legs of the first victim she had shot poking out from behind a bench. He wasn’t moving and she decided it wasn’t worth checking out. If he was alive, by the time he came to, she would be long gone.

Placing the blaster rifle on the counter and leaving enough credits to cover the damages, she left out the back door, emerging into an alley behind the bar. The sun had just set, and a faint violet glow illuminated the narrow space. She headed east toward the docking bays, hoping there would be some sort of transport going to a system with a little more action than the backwater she currently found herself on. Navigating her way between small shops and domiciles, sticking to the side streets, she finally made it to the outskirts of the spaceport. There wasn’t much to be seen. An old Corellian light freighter took up the largest bay of the semicircular dock, and some small personal transports occupied several others. From where she stood, she could just make out the corner of an engine of...some kind of ship she couldn’t begin to identify from what she could see of it.

Deciding it warranted a closure inspection, she began crossing the pavement toward the far side of the platform. As she approached a large pile of crates stacked high to her right, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Fingering the grip of her blaster, she stretched her legs opposite, trying to see around the obstruction. She had nothing to go on but the strange feeling - no sound or smell had been amiss - but she had learned long ago to trust her instincts. As she passed the crates and found nothing there, she almost shrugged her shoulders. Then a voice behind her broke the silence.

“Stop right there, bitch.”

He sounded young and nasally, probably just a kid. She slowly let her hands out from her sides in a gesture of acquiescence.

“Turn around.”

She complied, slowly turning to face him, but presenting herself in profile to make her a slimmer target. He was older than his voice suggested - maybe mid thirties. Blood seeped through the fabric of his shirt, near his hip, confirming he was indeed the first of the lackeys she had shot in the cantina. You were sloppy, Cara, she berated herself. It was going to cost her one of these days - but hopefully not this one. He stared at her out of a face that was scarred with pock-marks; his demeanor was nervous, sweat beading on his brow from pain and adrenaline. The scattergun he had pointed at her was deadly enough though. Even if she was a waif of woman - which she decidedly was not - all he would have to do was aim that thing in her general direction at this range and she’d be done for.

“You’re gonna pay for what you did,” he bit out. “I had a good thing going on here. Now the boss is in the clink and everyone else is dead or gone.”

“That’s right,” she replied, evenly. “You’re the last one. And I’m the woman who single-handedly took down your whole little operation here. Now, if you think you can bring me down all by yourself, you’re welcome to try. You might even succeed. How far do you think you’ll get before they catch you and put you on trial with the big boss, though? Do you think any of the locals might remember you coming into their shops for monthly shake downs?”

He swallowed hard and she knew she had him, “On the other hand, you could just walk away here and now. Forget it and start over someplace new. I’m sure there’s plenty of seedy little shits just like Kruger who would hire you in a heartbeat.”

He frowned, thinking.

“It’s true, I probably could find work someplace else, easy enough. But if I kill someone like you, I can at least come in with some street cred.”

Something in his eyes changed, and she knew he made his decision. She had one second at most before he fired. Shit. Her muscles tensed to spring --

A flash of bright light illuminated the space between them. And suddenly, the pock-marked goon disappeared before her eyes in a puff of disintegrated carbon molecules and bits of fabric. Her heart, which had been racing moments before, skipped a beat. A disruptor rifle fired that shot - and she would bet her last credit that a soft-spoken Mandalorian wielding just such a weapon was standing right behind her. She blamed the adrenaline for the somewhat giddy feeling coiling in her stomach at that thought.

“I had it under control, you know,” she tossed over her shoulder, turning slowly to confirm it was really him.

“I could tell,” he shot back, but she could hear the amusement beneath the dry tone of his voice.

He stood casually leaning on a shipping container with his arms crossed over his chest, his rifle already slung back over his shoulder. Clearly, his threat assessment of their surroundings was low risk, and she allowed herself to marginally relax along with him. Hell, just occupying the same space as him made her feel more secure. She allowed a smile to stretch her mouth wide as she closed the distance between them.

“I hoped we would run into each other again sometime, though I didn’t think it would be so soon. Still, I gotta admit, you and that Amban have pretty good timing. Thanks for the assist, even if it was unnecessary.”

He dipped his head and replied, “You’re welcome.”

Always mannerly, this one. He pushed off the container and stepped close, extending a hand out to her, “It’s good to see you again too, Dune.”

Her fingers closed around his hand, holding it up between them. It was the same as when they had parted, but this time he surprised her when he pulled her even closer and tipped his shoulder armor against hers. It was probably the closest approximation of a hug the man ever gave, and she felt oddly pleased - even touched - by the familiarity.

“I see you’re still in the mopping up business,” he commented, taking a step back.

“Yeah, well, I find whatever jobs I can stomach doing. One of the perks of being my own boss, I guess. How about you? Are you still juggling a freelance bounty hunter career with your full-time, single dad routine?”

He grunted something that might have been a laugh, “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Where’s little Green Bean now?”

He inclined his head in the direction of the hangar she had been approaching before she was so rudely interrupted, “He’s napping on the Razor Crest. We’re planning on heading out in the morning. You all wrapped up with your business here?”

“Sure am. Where are you two headed next?”

“Not sure yet. Why? Do you need a ride?”

“Maybe. My mama always told me not to take rides from strange men,” she grinned. “But I never listened to her before, so why start now?”

He snorted, “Ah, c’mon - we’ve got history. I’m not exactly a stranger.”

“A stranger? No. A ‘strange man’? Definitely,” she teased.

He shrugged, “Fair. So where are you headed?”

“Same place as you, it looks like. Just as long as you don’t plan on saddling me with baby duty while you go off hunting down the scum of the galaxy by yourself. The maternal gene skipped a generation in my family.”

“He stays out of trouble for the most part. It is hard to keep him contained when I’m on a job, but I don’t have many options. We gotta eat.”

Cara felt a pang of sympathy for him that made her regret her previous statement. Of course she would help look after the kid, or what was the point of coming along with him? Self-gain? She didn’t get much out of it, besides a cheap ride. He was the one who needed help. She cared about what happened to these two, and there was no point in denying it to herself or to him. She wouldn’t stick around too long, just long enough to make sure they at least landed on their feet.

“Are they still after him?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, I guess I don’t mind tagging along for a while. And I was joking before - I’ll help you look out for him. I’m not changing any diapers though,” she added, starting in the direction of the hanger with him.

“He’s vac-trained - except for the occasional accident at night.”

She threw her head back and laughed loudly, “The words that come out of your mouth sometimes, Mando. Or should I call you Mandad now? Mandadlorian, feared bounty hunter, defender of the oppressed, slayer of the wicked, changer of pee-pee pants.”

“I can rescind that invitation, you know.”

She smiled sweetly at him, “You could. But then who’s going to help you babysit?”


	2. Progress

It was hard to believe it had been five months since she had joined up with this weird-ass crew. A bounty hunter, a merc, and a baby...it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. And yet, they had made it work. It had taken some adjustment on everyone’s part - except perhaps Bean - he took everything in stride. But the Mandalorian’s personality meshed well with her own, and their job skills complimented each other.

Cara reclined in the co-pilot seat of the _Razor Crest_ , her feet propped on the console. Mando had given her a sideways look when she had dared to sully his components with her grimy boots (which weren’t actually dirty at all), but he had said nothing. Progress, she mused. A month ago he would have chewed her out for the same thing; now he accepted it with annoyed resignation. Another few weeks and he wouldn’t even notice. That’s how it was with them. The little irritations that came with cohabiting with another person in a small space eventually either got dealt with or overlooked. Cara was learning that her stoic companion usually got over his peeves quickly and with little confrontation. She knew she had been more of a bother to him than he had to her, but he had been surprisingly accommodating. 

When she had first joined him on the ship, they had been forced to hot rack for about two weeks - taking turns sleeping in his small bunk situated next to the vac unit in the main hold. She had been on plenty of troop transports for extended periods that had more personnel than sleeping cots, so she wasn’t bothered by the arrangement. Nevertheless, he had promised to clean out the storage area for her on the upper level behind the cockpit and makeshift galley. The next planet they had stopped off at had a few too many bounty hunters in town, so they had moved on before procuring any supplies for Mando’s interior design project. The one after that had proved more hospitable, and they had both been able to find temporary work to pay for fuel and supplies. 

She had expected him to move just enough stuff out to throw in a small cot and maybe a bin or two for her clothing and gear. Instead, he had cleared out everything that he had stored back there, relocated it to another spot on the ship and even sold a few of the bulkier items. Her second surprise was that her new partner had a gift for building things. He made a hinged bed-frame that folded up against the wall when not in use. It was wider than necessary for one person, but Cara wasn’t going to complain - she tended to sprawl in her sleep anyway. He put a shelving unit that framed the far side of the bed and the space above it, complete with cubbies for her gear and a rack for her weapons. A small clothes compartment took up the back wall; he had even hung a mirror above it. 

His other home improvements included replacing the temporary privacy curtain he had put in front of the vac unit with an actual door, which was a vast improvement in general. For her part, Cara had contributed a few much needed items to the galley and taken over much of the cooking. The bounty hunter was skilled at many things - making edible food was not one of them. It was a miracle he hadn’t poisoned Bean yet with the decades old ready-to-eat rations he kept on board. Cara wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef herself, but she could do a hell of a lot better than Mando could. 

They both shared the responsibilities of caring for the little green alien. He really wasn’t that much trouble, all things considered. He did have a habit of touching buttons he wasn’t supposed to. He almost got himself frozen in carbonite on one occasion when he had sneaked out of the cockpit without either of them noticing. He was damn stealthy when he wanted to be. But all in all, he was a good-natured little fellow who wormed his way into the hearts of just about every decent person he met. Cara had been determined to keep herself emotionally distanced from him at the outset. She knew that the end goal was to find a place to leave him where he would be safe. She knew it would break both the kid’s heart and the hunter’s, and she had been determined not to flay herself wide open in the same way. That hadn’t lasted long, she reflected.

_One day cycle aboard ship, less than a month after she had joined them, Green Bean had given them a particularly hard time about falling asleep. He kept getting out Mando’s bunk and climbing back up into the cockpit with them. He was clearly tired, but he just did not want to be away from them. After the fourth time of him pawing at her leg, Cara had reached down and lifted him into her lap. He just stared at her with those huge liquid brown eyes for the longest time. Then, just as she had felt herself growing dangerously close to giving in to his unspeakable cuteness, he had shifted his attention downward and began pawing at her bosom with his tiny claws. He looked for the life of him like he was fluffing a pillow. Mando, who had been observing their interaction from his seat, stifled a chuckle._

_“Laugh it up, Mandad - you’re the one who has to explain to him what’s off limits.”_

_“He’s a baby, it’s not like he knows what he’s doing. He’s just playing with something he likes the feel of.”_

_“And that makes him different from every other man…how?” she teased._

_“Because he’s not thinking about--” he paused, searching for the right words and finally settled on, “--whatever comes after. He’s just happy he found something soft and squishy and--”_

_“Okay, I get it, I get it. Let’s just see if we can find him a “soft and squishy” stuffed animal to play with at the next marketplace we stop at, hmm?”_

_She was about to arrest the activity of his busy little paws, when he suddenly yawned widely and laid his head against her chest, nestling his cheek against her as one absurdly long ear tucked between her breasts. One of his hands began to tap a beat where it rested against her ribs, and it took her a moment to realize he was drumming out the rhythm of her heart as he fell asleep. She tried not to smile down at him. She tried not to wrap her arms around his tiny little body, rubbing his back in soothing motions. She tried to stifle the lullaby that rose unbidden to her throat. She tried not to let her heart open up to this indescribably adorable child. She failed spectacularly on all accounts. She let him crack through the walls she had so carefully erected around herself, and she couldn’t quite come to regret it. She hummed him to sleep and eventually took him down to his "dad’s" bunk. When she returned, Mando asked her where she had learned the song._

_“My mother’s lullaby,” she answered. “The one she sang us to sleep with every night - my brothers and I.”_

_“It’s nice. It reminds me of a tune my mother used to sing when I was small.”_

_He rarely spoke about his parents. Cara knew they had been killed when he was young, in a Separatist invasion on his home planet. The Mandalorians had taken him in after that and raised him, as was their custom. One he apparently was continuing, despite the pretense of trying to offload Bean when they got the chance. She wasn’t sure if she should pry further, but she decided to take a chance._

_“What was she like?”_

_He paused for a few moments, his head cocked slightly to the side, as if he was sifting through his memories. She was beginning to think he wouldn’t answer, when he suddenly began with “Her name was Lara.”_

_He paused again, before continuing haltingly, “Her hair was soft and dark. She had warm eyes. Her voice was soothing...gentle. She loved to cook big meals and invite our neighbors over. We always had a lot of pets because she never met a stray that she wouldn’t take in.”_

_Cara laughed softly, “Sounds like you take after her. Well, except for the cooking.”_

_“I guess I deserve that.”_

_“Do you look like her?” she ventured further._

_“I look more like my father, but both my parents had the features commonly found in our people - dark hair and eyes.”_

_“So, do you have straight or curly hair?”_

_“In between.”_

_“Dark skin?”_

_“A bit darker than yours. I’m lighter than my parents, but that’s probably because I don’t get in the sun that much.”_

_“And by not much, you mean ‘not at all’”._

_He shrugged._

_“Facial hair or clean shaven?”_

_“I hate shaving, but I don’t let it get long.”_

_"Ooh, now we’re getting somewhere. Square face or oval?”_

_“Are you planning on drawing a portrait?”_

_“I can’t even draw a stick figure. C’mon Mando, I’m just trying to get a tiny inkling of the man beneath the mask.”_

_“I thought women liked mysterious men.”_

_“Sweetheart, the only thing mysterious about you is what you look like. I got the rest of you figured.”_

_“Oh yeah?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“What’s my favorite food?” he asked._

_“Whatever is cheapest on the menu.”_

_“Favorite drink?”_

_“Same answer.”_

_Favorite music?_

_“The death cries of your enemies.”_

_“Favorite planet?”_

_“Whichever one we can get to safely without being shot, blown up, or tracked to.”_

_“Favorite color?”_

_“Green, obviously.”_

_He snorted in amusement, “Yeah...you definitely have me all figured out.”_

She thought about it now and smirked to herself. His words had been meant to sound sarcastic in the moment, even though her answers weren’t truly specific - but they both knew she was right. He had an air of mystery, but his habits were repetitive and his needs simple...as were hers. That was the first night she had started to feel like she truly belonged to this funny little family. She wasn’t going to start calling herself Bean’s mom or anything, though. She never really thought she was cut out for motherhood, and the job had always been in the way. Mando was undeniably Bean’s dad - even if he believed that the relationship was temporary. Besides that, he never pushed back or argued with anyone who assumed that the baby was “his”, even though it obviously was not the issue of his loins. So for her to assume the role of Bean’s mother was presumptuous at best, and offensive at worst, given the implied relationship between her and Mando. So, for now, she thought of herself as his bad-ass aunt who wouldn’t hesitate to eviscerate any idiot dumb enough to mess with him or her Mandalorian friend. 

_Friend?_

She turned that word over in her mind a few times. They had begun this journey as partners, strictly business. They quickly became easy with each other, the missions they took on adding layers of shared experiences to their relationship. Nothing deepened the bonds between people like shared trauma, and she had already lost track of the number of times they had saved each other’s lives. Without really trying, they seemed to know exactly what the other person was thinking or planning. It served them well on the jobs they took. It had been like that since Sorgum, Cara realized. He had shown that he had no problem letting her jump into a dangerous situation while he covered her. He had faith in her abilities, and she had faith in his. 

They were more like family now, rather than just friends, but she had a more difficult time assigning a role to their relationship. They weren’t really like brother and sister. Cara had been raised as one girl among five brothers, so she knew that relationship dynamic well. Working as a shock trooper, she had been around men all the time, and gotten accustomed to the way they spoke and joked. Her humor tended to be a little off color at times, in keeping with the company she had most often kept. Thus, she sometimes made comments or quips that she could tell made Mando uncomfortable. So naturally, she continued to make them, because it was _fun_ to make him squirm a little. But it was also one of the things that made it more difficult to define their familial relationship - because one did not joke about wanting to undress their sibling - at least, not in her family. But it wasn’t like she was in love with him or anything. Hell, she didn’t even know what he looked like under all that armor. He could be positively hideous. She didn’t care to admit how much time she spent wondering what he looked like, though. One day, she was going to discover what was under that helmet. If she was patient enough, she was certain he would be truly vulnerable with her one day. 

The one thing she _had_ discovered was that he wasn’t as quiet as she had initially believed. He was perfectly capable of holding a normal conversation, and as the months passed, she found herself opening up to him about a lot of things. He asked her about her years as a shock trooper. She had told him about some of the members of her team and the things they had done together. She had offered him a lot more than she would have thought, but she didn’t tell him all the details of why she had finally left and he hadn’t asked - for which she was grateful.

Some of those memories still haunted her, especially in her dreams. Some things you never quite got over. There were still things that Mando wouldn’t open up to her about either, like the day his parents died. He dreamed about it still. She knew only because one night she had woken to the sound of him wrestling with a nightmare. She heard him call for his mother and father - begging them not to leave him. His voice was so strained, he almost sounded like a child again. She had nearly dared to go down there to wake him up, but he had quieted before she worked up the nerve. She had not brought it up the next day and neither did he. That had happened a few weeks ago, but he had seemed a bit on edge since then.

She glanced at his profile from where she reclined slightly behind his right shoulder. He was bent over a display screen, skimming through some data that the ship’s computer had compiled from a self-diagnostic. His shoulders seemed to be hunched more than usual, and his leg was bouncing restlessly beneath the console. 

“Is something bothering you?” she asked suddenly.

“Not really. Why?”

“I don’t know. I feel like you’ve been...off lately. Like something has you worried.”

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, slipping a finger beneath the edge of the material bunched at his neck and tugging at it, as if it was suddenly too tight. It was a habit he often repeated when he was uncomfortable or pondering something - much like some people would stroke their chin or pinch the bridge of their nose. She waited patiently for him to open up, knowing it was only a matter of time.

“It’s been six months since all this started. Whatever Gideon wants him for - he isn’t giving up.”

“Are you thinking it’s time to stop trying to disappear and take the fight to him?”

He cocked his head at her, “Is that what you’ve been thinking too?”

“Yeah, but I knew it was better to let you come to the conclusion yourself instead of trying to convince you. We’re going to need more than just the two of us though. I’m an ex-soldier and you’re a bounty hunter. We’re gonna need solid intel to take on someone like Gideon and for that we need a top notch information broker...or someone with connections to New Republic intelligence. You got any ideas?"

“I don’t know a lot of those types, no. And I definitely wouldn’t trust any of the characters I’ve met not to sell us out. You?”

“I might know a guy. But getting close to him is going to be damn near impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because he works for the New Republic. If I set foot on any of the places he’s apt to be, I’ll be arrested before I can get out of the hangar. And you aren’t exactly inconspicuous yourself. If I could get you outta that damn recognizable armor for two hours, we would be fine - but that’s not going to happen, is it?”

“Not likely.”

“I swear I’ve never met a guy harder to undress than you,” she teased, throwing him a crooked smirk.

“You just haven’t found the right method to motivate me,” he replied, his tone low and suggestive.

She gaped at him, utterly shocked that he had returned her innuendo. This was a first. Was he just becoming accustomed to her humor or was he actually putting out an invitation? She quickly dismissed that idea. She knew his type and it was decidedly not her. She shook her head slightly and tried to compose herself.

“Oh really? Duly noted. Seriously though, we can’t get anywhere near him without raising flags. Out here, we pretty much only have the bounty hunters to deal with - but back in the core worlds, it will only be a matter of time before we’re caught by local law enforcement - or me at least, since I’m the one they’re looking for.”

“Yeah, but they won’t be expecting us there, which gives us an advantage. It wouldn’t be that hard to sneak you in to meet this guy. Do you have his contact info?”

“I do, but it’s a few years old. It might not be good anymore.”

“Can’t hurt to try. We could stop at Lariva VII. They have a communications center there that you could send an encrypted message from. It would be safer than trying to scramble a signal from the _Razor Crest_.”

He plugged the coordinates into the navicomputer, “It would only take three hours to get there if we drop out of hyperspace here and change course.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Mando? It’s just the two of us and who knows what we’re up against?”

“All I know is that we can’t keep doing what we’re doing, that’s for sure,” he stated, his voice weary but with a note of determination beneath.

“Okay, reroute us. I’m gonna go get some sleep before we get planetside. You should too, you’ve got some serious bags under your eyes.”

Beneath his helmet, he exhaled sharply through his nose, which was the closest he ever got to laughing.

“Goodnight, Dune.”

“Goodnight, Mando.”


	3. Home

Lariva VII was much more densely populated than the obscure planets and moons they had been frequenting of late, but it was the sort of place one could easily blend in. The security was lax compared to other core worlds, but there was a wide variety of humans and aliens from across the galaxy mingling together in the busy streets. When Mando landed near the outskirts, they had agreed it was better for Cara to go alone. She was less recognizable than he was, and their stay here was going to be short...hopefully. 

First, she made her way to the communication center to send her message. She set up a dummy holonet account so he could leave her a reply message in case he wasn’t available immediately. Her communication was short and to the point: _Been a while, Riddick. I’m in a bit of a jam and I could use some help getting intel on an ex Imp who’s been giving me trouble. No details over long distance, I need a face-to-face. You in? - C.D._ Making sure the communication would be encrypted on both ends, she sent it out and headed to the marketplace to replenish their pantry. 

The galley on the _Razor Crest_ was ridiculously small - consisting of a tiny sink, two cooking burners, some overhead cabinets, one refrigeration unit and about two square feet of counter space. Planning meals with limited space to store, prepare, and preserve them was a challenge. Therefore, they tended to eat the same sorts of meals frequently, with the same basic ingredients that could be easily found in most markets. Because this market was much larger than what she was used to, it took Cara longer to locate her staple items among the abundance of other foods. She finally found what she needed, and even splurged on a few meiloorun fruits - but she had been gone longer than she expected to be. 

She activated her personal comm to check in with Mando back at the ship.

“You’re late,” his slightly metallic voice responded to her call, and she thought she detected a note of anxiety in his gravelly tone.

“Sorry. I sent the message and got some food - which took longer than expected. I’m going to check to see if he replied and then head back to the ship. I got a treat for us, too.”

“Fine. Hey, keep your eyes open, okay? There are some ships here at the hanger that have been retrofitted with some nasty stuff. It’s a good bet there are a few bounty hunters around.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me in a place like this, but I doubt they’ll be looking specifically for us. I’ll be careful, though. See you within the hour.”

“Okay.”

She pocketed the comm and headed back to the communication center, threading her way through the growing throngs of people leaving their places of work for the evening. It took her a few minutes to find an empty terminal, but when she finally secured one, she was pleased to find a message waiting for her. 

_Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, Cara. I would never turn down a chance to see your gorgeous face again, but I’m going to hold off committing to anything until I have an explanation for the stunt you pulled on Batiri - your version. Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out, but I need to know. If I find your answer satisfactory, I’ll consider doing the job for you. - Brice_

He tagged an address to the bottom of the message. Coruscant. 

“Great,” Cara murmured to herself. “Mando’s gonna love this.”

It was a better response than she had been hoping for, considering how she had left things with Riddick the last time she had seen him. She quickly sent a reply confirming she was coming soon. Now to get back and tell her partner the good news. They were heading to the most populated, tightly secured planet in the galaxy, with cameras every few yards recording every move they made. The address was a mid level location, not quite all the way down to the seediest parts of the city, but a little less conspicuous than those at the surface level. Still, just landing there undetected might be a challenge. 

Cara exited the center and dove back into the crowds. The streets had become even more congested in the time she had been inside the terminal. She made her way to the edge of the street, adjusting her food-laden satchel more comfortably over her shoulder. She had worn a cloak with a hood today to help keep her face hidden and obscure her reconnaissance of the passersby. The weather on the moon was shifting into winter and the temperature was low enough that others were also dressed as she was, their heads covered to keep out the chill. The benefit was that it helped her blend in, the drawback was that it was harder to see _their_ faces. Any location with a dense population was sure to produce all manner of people wearing hoods, masks, or helmets - it was a fairly common occurrence on many worlds. But one such masked figure immediately drew her regard as he crossed the street opposite her. 

_Why didn’t you stay at the ship and wait for me? s_ he thought, debating whether to call out to the man wearing the unmistakable Mandalorian helmet beneath a hooded cloak of his own. Better not to draw more attention though. She would discreetly make eye contact and then they could head back to the ship separately. She wove her way through the swells of people, wrinkling her nose when she got stuck behind a particularly odorous Bothan who smelled like he hadn’t washed his fur in months - which was curious because they were usually a rather fastidious race. Finally getting around his short frame, she searched the crowd again for Mando. There. Ten yards ahead of her, he was standing beside a vendor selling overripe cantous, slowly scanning the faces around him. 

Wait.

That wasn’t him. It was _a_ Mandalorian for sure, but it wasn’t _her_ Mandalorian. He seemed a bit shorter and what she had thought were shadows cast on the helmet by the hood was actually paint. Now that she was closer, she could see that the steel was scratched in some places, and the color scheme looked to be dirty gray or green with a rusty color rimming the edge of the T in the center of the mask. 

She faked interest in another vendor’s wares as she studied him out of the corner of her eye. Most of the rest of his armor was hidden beneath the cloak he wore, but what she could see of it displayed more wear and tear than what was present on her partner’s newly forged armor. Mandalorians had become exceedingly rare following the Imperial purge of their homeworld, and Cara was unsure what to make of him. He might not be a Mandalorian at all, just a guy who stole the armor off one, or scavenged it. It was a big galaxy - there was no telling who this guy was. But she couldn’t take the chance that he wasn’t the real deal. Most Mandalorians shared a reputation as ruthless, elite warriors who usually made their trade by hunting bounties or hiring themselves out as mercenaries. 

Whatever the case - she needed to get to the ship without him seeing her. To her right was an alley that cut across to another street running parallel to the main thoroughfare. If she could slip over there undetected, she should be able to quickly make it back to the hangar bays. She placed the intricately carved statue she had been pretending to inspect - which she only just now realized was two Twi-lek entwined in the throws of passion - and slowly maneuvered to the alley’s entrance. So far, so good. A glance over her shoulder half-way down the narrow lane confirmed no one was following her. She rounded the corner at the end of the alley and scanned the less congested street. Nothing seemed amiss. She stepped out casually, as if just taking a simple short-cut to avoid the crowds and turned up the road to her left. She passed three buildings, then took a slight right where two streets converged. She was fairly certain she was still heading more or less directly toward the hanger. 

She chanced another inconspicuous glance over her right shoulder. Nothing. Her shoulders dropped a little in relief as she faced forward, and nearly collided with someone stepping out of an alcove to her left. It was him - the Mandalorian who was decidedly not her friend - that fact emphasized all the more when he closed his hand around her wrist with a vice-like grip. Her blood ran hot and rushed to her extremities, even as her lips spread back from her teeth in a vicious snarl that could have almost been a grin. Time to see how this Mandalorian stacked up to hers. 

She pivoted beside him, keeping the wrist he held close to her body and stretching his arm across her, bringing her right elbow up and under the rim of his helmet. Before it connected with his throat, he released her wrist and danced away from her. He had enough experience to avoid a hit that might have ended it right then. She knew his strength was in his armor’s weaponry, and if she gave him time and space to use it, she could quickly lose the upper hand. So she pressed her advantage, swinging the satchel of food at his head and unleashing a barrage of punches and kicks aimed at the places his suit left vulnerable. 

His movements were not as fast as Mando’s, but he was more skilled at avoiding hits. He had the calm assurance of an older, experienced fighter, but that also meant he had less stamina than a younger man. Cara knew her limits though. Even if he was older than Mando, she might not be able to wear him down before exhausting herself with attacks that drained her energy quickly. The trouble with fighting a man in armor, of course, was that his vitals were mostly protected. She could hit him again and again, but her hits were causing minimal damage. She needed to subdue him before she wasted too much of her strength. He blocked a fist aimed at his lower ribs and managed to land a punch to her gut. Her abs absorbed the impact and she barely staggered. He didn’t hit as hard as _her_ Mandalorian either, she thought with a strange sense of pride. 

Cara crammed a knee into his crotch - she never did have any qualms about fighting dirty - but her efforts were frustrated by a piece of armor that protected his valuables. Using the momentum of her recoiling leg, she hooked her heel behind his and drew it out from under him, as she slammed the heel of her hand beneath the lip of his helmet and snapped his head backward. The opposing motions produced the desired effect, and she slammed him into the ground, quickly following to straddle him and pin his arms. 

He had a better ground game than she had expected though, and he managed to roll out of her pin before she could get her full weight on him. With his one free hand, he snatched the blaster from her holster, but she slammed a boot on his wrist before he could turn it on her. He grunted in pain and the blaster flew out of his hand, skittering away from them. Cara didn’t have the opportunity to scan her surroundings and she briefly wondered if any civilians watching the fight were calling security forces over to their location. She was running out of time - she needed to end this quickly. But now she was without her only ranged weapon. She grappled with him, trying desperately to gain some sort of control over one of his joints - a wrist, an elbow, a shoulder - anything his armor couldn’t stop her from breaking. But now she was getting tired, and he was holding his own better than she had anticipated. Damn Mandalorians.

She turned to her last resort - the knife at her belt. She disliked using it only because it was a weapon that could be easily turned on its user if confronting someone skilled at knife-fighting and disarming. But her assailant was nearly the same height as her, which was beneficial to her. She didn’t have to extend far to reach his vulnerable places, and their strides were matched. She needed to ascertain his skill at knife-fighting without making herself vulnerable to him, but she also couldn’t allow too much distance between them, as he would be able to make use of whatever hidden weaponry his armor was equipped with. 

Keeping the back of the blade tight to her forearm and her fists up in defensive positions, she slashed out at him - once, twice, thrice. Each time she struck, he evaded, and after her third miss, he blocked the inside of her knife arm and attempted to redirect her strike toward her stomach. She slammed her left fist onto his shoulder near his neck with such force, his knee buckled and he pitched to one side. She had him.

Her fingers closed around the pauldron on his shoulder and she pulled; her hips twisting in a downward spiral as her knife sped its way toward the side of his exposed neck. Suddenly, white hot pain bloomed through her left shoulder as the report of a blaster sounded from close by. She sprang backwards, but her heel caught on the Mandalorian’s boot, and then she was falling. Her head slammed into the hard cobblestones of the street, causing her to momentarily black out. She felt the Mandalorian rising next to her. She kicked out blindly, satisfied when her boots connected with something solid and she heard him hit the ground. Her vision still blurry, she managed to make out a second figure approaching them, a blaster in hand and a long, wicked looking spear of some sort slung across his back. He was tall and lanky - handsome, were it not for the yellow, rotting teeth he had bared to her behind a malevolent smile. A crown of horns protruded from his bald head. 

There was no recourse for her now. She had to escape before the Mandalorian could recover. Remembering the flash charge that Mando had handed to her before she left - “just in case”, he had said - she threw it between her and the second hunter. Shutting her eyes against the blinding bright of the charge, she scrambled to her feet and lit out for the nearest alley - praying it was not a dead end. There was a fence stretched across the far end, but it was only six feet high and she was able to clear it easily. Her shoulder still flared with pain, but her armor had absorbed some of the damage. She took a right turn down a side street, and then crossed someone’s backyard, squeezed through a hedge of dense bushes (which, of course, _had_ to be covered in thorns), up two more blocks and through a small cluster of trees, pausing near some sort of factory building. She was fairly certain she had lost her pursuers, but she needed to rest and take stock of her situation. 

Cara skirted around the outside of the perimeter fence, ducked in through an open gate and crossed a small lot to the building, finding cover amidst many plastic-wrapped containers stacked up near the sides of the brick structure. She found the door to a loading garage left open, and ducked inside. She could hear the voices of two men nearby, but they were not in sight. To her right was a door that led to a storeroom, with more crates and pallets of various sizes stacked all around. The room was dark and there was no sign of anyone inside. She went in and wound her way around the containers until she reached the back of the room. Above her were some long, rectangular windows that faced outside. She climbed up on a pallet and peered out the window, trying to get her bearings. Her headlong flight had left her a little disoriented and though she was sure she was close to the spaceport, she wasn’t exactly sure where it was in proximity to the factory building. 

The window didn’t offer much of a view since it was still on ground level. She would need to climb to a higher floor to see over the buildings in the distance. Then, just as she was about to climb down, a ship ascended from the spaceport, maybe two miles southwest of her location. She could make it there in under half an hour if she didn’t have to stop too many times to take cover. She fixed the image in her head and took note of a few taller buildings that would serve as a landmark if she was forced too far from her course. 

It had already been longer than she had said it would take to get back, so she paused to alert Mando of the situation. 

“Hey, you there?”

This time, when his voice came through the speaker, there was no mistaking the tightness in his tone, “Where _are_ you?”

“I ran into some trouble back by the marketplace. Two bounty hunters...and one of them is a Mandalorian.”

“What?”

“I got away and I’m holed up in a factory about two miles out from you.”

“Stay there, I’m coming for you.”

“Negative. I don’t know if they’re after you or me or Bean or all of us, but there is no sense in letting them know we’re together if they don’t already. I can make it to you, just keep the engines warm so we can get out of here quick. We have what we came for.”

“Cara…”

“I’ll be fine. Just wait for me -- oh shit.”

“What?”

Cara didn’t answer immediately. Out the window, two hundred yards from where she crouched, the lanky bounty hunter emerged from a copse of trees. He strode out into the clearing, his gaze fixed in her direction. He was standing directly between her and the spaceport. When he raised his hand to his mouth and said something into a wrist comm, she could just make out the tracking fob dangling from his hand.

“Cara! What’s going on? Talk to me!”

“They’re here. I’ll get to you, just --” a high pitched ringing emanated from her comm before it faded into a low crackling. 

_He must have a close proximity jamming device, or rather, the Mandalorian does,_ Cara thought. Which meant, they knew she was with Mando and they were cutting her off from him. Her head throbbed from where she had smashed it on the street, and she didn’t have to reach up to know there was a large bump forming. 

_Think, think. You have to get to that hangar. You can do this, you just need a distraction._

Cara looked around her. The room was filled with whatever was on those pallets. She took her knife and cut through the plastic on one, tearing into the contents. Fabric. Of course, it was one of the main exports of this moon. It was a silk spun by some local insect, that made very rich, exotic material. _And highly flammable_ , Cara recalled. There was her distraction. She set to work taking the plastic off as many pallets as she could. When she had a sizable pile, she spread it out to increase the burn area, hoping the other pallets would catch as well. She took out her lighter and held it to the end closest to the window. Immediately, the material caught fire, burning faster and hotter than she had imagined possible. Perfect. Now to get out. 

She made her way back to the door she came in through, relieved to find the loading dock was still empty. The two workers who were here earlier must have moved off. She located a fire alarm and activated it. The siren than split the air was deafening, but it only served to further her scheme. Workers from other parts of the building began flocking to her location. She stayed out of sight behind some lift trucks and slowly moved to the back of the garage, grabbing a worker’s vest where it hung on a hook as she passed. A side door led out of the area and put her on the side of the building she needed to be on to get to the spaceport. Just then, emergency crews flew in on a large fire-fighting craft. She pulled the vest on and ran toward the first responders. 

“The fire is in the storeroom on the south side of the building! Hurry!”

They rushed past her and she used the confusion to cover her escape across the open space of the lot into the trees. She saw no sign of either of her pursuers, which was more terrifying than knowing exactly where they were. Climbing the fence that bordered the back of factory, she made her way down a drainage ditch and back up the other side. Ahead of her was a main street that she knew would lead directly to the spaceport. As tempting as it was to go that way to save time, she knew she would be spotted; so she would need to take her own route. She ditched the factory vest and started running. Crossing in and out of apartments yards and taking as many side streets as she could, she cut an erratic and difficult to follow trail toward her destination. She never went in places that were too crowded or abandoned, choosing paths that would be sure to leave a few witnesses. Not that it seemed to matter to this pair - they had attacked her in the open without thought of repercussions from the local authorities. 

Finally, she burst into the square in front of the spaceport. Had she lost them? She didn’t even know if they had managed to follow her away from the factory. Their docking bay was in the center of the crowded port, but she didn’t slow her mad dash to the safety of the _Razor Crest_ . Her legs ached and her lungs burned as she forced herself to go faster. The pain in her head and shoulder had faded as other parts of her body screamed in protest. Humans and aliens alike jumped out of her way, clearly intimidated by the woman barreling toward them. She risked a glance over her shoulder...and wished she hadn’t. Longshanks was not far behind her, his legs reaching further than hers - and she was clearing a path for him. But she still had a bit of a lead and she was almost there. She made it appear as if she were running past their bay, but then cut a hard right through the doorway and down onto the landing pad. As she rounded the corner, she spotted Mando pacing next to the lowered ramp of the _Crest._

“Coming in hot!” she yelled from across the bay.

His head snapped up and the disruptor rifle on his back swung into his hands in a smooth, practiced motion, finding its cradle against his shoulder as he sighted it toward the door behind her. She had never been more happy to see another human being in her life, and somehow she managed to pour on more speed as she closed the distance between them. 

“Come on, get us outta here!” she bellowed as she vaulted up the ramp, struggling to slow down on the smooth floor plates once inside. 

Mando slammed the keypad that closed the ramp, but only took his eyes off that door when the ramp was completely shut. He spun around and grasped her arm, hauling her up from where she was bent over her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Are you alright?” 

“I got winged, but I’m okay,” she replied. “We don’t have time for this now, get up there and get us off the ground.”

He gave a curt nod and scrambled up the ladder to the cockpit. Cara felt the engines roar to life as she ascended the rungs a bit slower than he had. The ship lifted off the ground as she made her way to the cock-pit, half falling into the co-pilot’s seat in relief.

“Where to?” Mando asked.

“Coruscant.”

“Coruscant?!” he asked, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish. That’s where we’re headed. It’s okay, we’ve got this,” she tried to reassure him.

Mando’s hands flew over the console as he punched up the coordinates on the navicomputer. A few moments later, the well traveled space lane route was calculated - he set their course and pulled that wonderful lever of freedom. The stars lengthened into starlines and then all at once they were safe within the glowing blue tunnel of hyperspace. Cara’s shoulders sagged as she leaned forward in her seat, thrusting her fingers into her hair. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she was beginning to feel pain in all the various places in her body that had been abused today.

Mando was instantly out of his seat and kneeling in front of her, gently prying her hands free so he could peer at her face. 

“How bad?” he asked.

“What? My injuries, or our current situation?”

“Let’s start with your injuries.”

“Superficial, for the most part. I caught a blaster bolt to the shoulder, but my armor caught the brunt of it. I got a few other scrapes and bruises, but no big deal. Listen, Mando - I have to tell you something. I messed up bad back there. Please promise me you won’t hate me for what I’m about to tell you…”

He leveled his gaze at her, and she wished she could see his face so badly. His hands were still on her wrists, but his grip did not tighten at the serious tone in her voice.

“I’m so sorry, but I...I dropped the satchel with our groceries when I was fighting the other Mandalorian. All the meiloorun fruit that I bought as a treat got lost. I know, I’m so ashamed of myself, but there it is.”

He considered her for a long moment before drawing a shaky breath, “If this ship was equipped with airlocks, I might have considered throwing you into the cold of space - but since I can’t eject you without depressurizing the entire cabin, I suppose the consequences of your failure will have to wait. It’s coming out of your pay though.”

She stared back at him, her eyes wide. The last thing she had expected for him to do was play along with her. Sigh and shake his head maybe. Swat her on the arm for making light of everything that happened, sure. But this? This was unexpected. And hilarious. Her look of wonder shifted into an amused smirk, as a bubble of laughter escaped her mouth. To her utter shock, Mando’s mirthful sniff actually produced a sound from his throat as well - a sound that could only be described as a chuckle. How many times could he manage to surprise her in one day?

“Did you just actually laugh, like with a sound and everything?” she teased.

“You’ve heard me laugh,” he defended.

“No, no. You exhale loudly through your nose - _sometimes_ you snort. But I have not heard you laugh out loud in the whole time we’ve been together.”

“Well now you have. C'mon, let’s get you patched up.”

“Ugh, I don’t really want to. You are a terrible doctor.”

“You wanna do it yourself?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then stop complaining and get to your room.”

“Okay, _dad._ ” 

Cara’s head felt a little light as she made her way to her cabin - almost as if she was slightly inebriated. Mando grabbed the med kit and followed her to her bunk. He pulled the bed down from the wall to their right and she stood in front of it, feeling off kilter. 

“Can you take your armor off, or do you need help?” he asked quietly from behind her.

“I have a great idea,” she said, unable to resist the urge to rib him again, especially since he was apparently in a playful mood. 

Smirking at him from over her shoulder, she suggested, “Let’s play a game. For every article of armor or clothing that I take off, you have to take off the corresponding piece yourself. I’ll go first,” she said, removing her cloak as seductively as she could manage and letting it fall to the floor. 

“Let’s not, and say we did,” he replied. 

She turned around and poked her finger in his chestplate, “You sir, are no fun.”

Her voice was starting to sound slurred even to her own ears as she removed her gorget and wincing at the pull of dried blood tearing away from her wound.

“Did you hit your head?” he asked, suddenly.

“As a matter of fact, yes I did.”

His response was to take off his gloves and reach his hands behind her head. His fingers slipped through her hair, and even though it was painful to the touch, it was also somehow thrilling. His arms were on either side of her head; her nose right in front of the chin of his helmet, so close that she could smell the slightly oily scent of the padding underneath it. Her mind suddenly flashed back to home, and the smell of her oldest brother’s favorite hat that he wore every day. She had always liked that scent for some reason.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? Your hair is completely matted with blood,” he scolded, holding his reddened fingers in front of her face for emphasis. 

“I didn’t realize,” she replied, and it was the truth. 

He plucked a light from the med kit and commanded, “Look at me.”

She obeyed as he shined the beam in her eyes to gauge the response from her pupils.

“You are probably concussed,” he announced.

“That makes sense, I do feel kind of sloshed right now. How about we take care of the shoulder first and then worry about my head though?”

“Fine.”

He produced a knife from somewhere and positioned it above her shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Cutting the fabric away from the wound.”

“No! This is my last good shirt, I’ll never be able to mend it if you cut it all to pieces. Just give me a second to get out of it.”

He sighed in exasperation, but the knife disappeared and he moved behind her. Cara unbuckled her belt and let it drop. Reaching across her body with her injured shoulder to get her good arm out of her shirt proved more painful that she had expected, and she hissed in discomfort before she had even gotten it halfway up her stomach. 

“I’ll do it,” he growled in her ear. 

Cara stilled, and dropped her aching arm, silently granting him permission to disrobe her. His bare hand hesitantly slide up her side as he hooked his fingers under the material and coaxed it up and over her shoulder and then down the length of her right arm. She suppressed a shudder as he gently lifted the shirt over her head, his breath escaping the underside of his helmet to warm the skin on her neck. All that was left was to slide her left arm out.

“This is going to burn,” he warned.

As if her whole body wasn’t already on fire at the moment, she thought - not daring to dwell on the implications of such sensations. He peeled the fabric away from the scorched track the blaster bolt had carved into her skin, and she ground her teeth against the pain. She turned her head to look at the injury for the first time, anxious to take inventory of the damage. It was about what she had expected. The bolt had mostly grazed her, searing through the top layers of skin and slightly exposing the muscle of the meatiest part of her shoulder, inches from her neck. It could be treated fairly easily. Some of the fabric of her shirt had been burned into it though, and that would need to be removed before they could cauterize it. 

Mando set to work with his typical focused demeanor, though it seemed to Cara that he was more tender with her than how he normally was when he patched her up. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he had tended to an injury of hers, but it was the first time she had to do more than roll up a sleeve or a pant-leg. She was still wearing a bra, but as she sat there on the edge of her bed as he had directed her - him behind her, plucking bits of cloth out of her shoulder with tweezers - she felt almost completely naked. There was something very...intimate about this moment. She had felt his embarrassment and hesitation when he was taking off her shirt, but he had done it without a word and without touching more than he needed to. Even now, he stayed behind her shoulder with his wrist steadied on her back, instead of on her chest as it would have been had he attempted to do this from the front. 

He was protecting her modesty, she realized. Even though Cara had largely lost all sense of it as a shock trooper, the effort was touching. Even so, in this moment with the person who was closest to her in all the galaxy, she felt strangely shy and reluctant to bare herself to him. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her body - far from it. She was not built like most women - small and delicate - or so they had always seemed to her. Though she wasn’t exceedingly tall, she was built powerfully, with broad shoulders and thick muscles. Her waist did not taper into a comely hourglass shape as some women did, but her breasts were more than ample and hips flared just enough over a firm, round ass to give her an unmistakably feminine figure from whichever angle she was viewed at. She wasn’t skinny, nor was she fat. She had a stocky build, solid, and well put together. She wasn’t graceful in the traditional sense of the word, but there was a smooth confidence in her movements. No, she was not ashamed of her body, but she was inexplicably reluctant to have him so close to her, looking at her bared flesh.

“I’m done,” he announced.

He had made fast work of cleaning and cauterizing her shoulder. Now to address the head injury. He was already positioned where he needed to be, and wasted no time in delving his fingers into her hair to probe the gash again. 

“Your hair is so thick I can’t see how deep this cut is.”

“You better not be thinking about cutting my hair, so don’t even suggest it.”

He exhaled sharply and continued to press the swelling around the gash, “Then I’ll need to wash out the blood and the cut. Come into the galley, I’ll rinse it out in the sink.”

She rose and followed him, feeling a wave of vertigo hit her as she did so. He adjusted the dials until the temperature was satisfactory, then motioned for her to bend over the sink. She braced her good arm in front of her and lowered her head into the basin as Mando used the detachable spray hose to soak her hair and loosen up the blood clinging to it. He gently massaged his fingers against her scalp, working the blood and grime out. Rivulets of pink water ran down her cheeks and cascaded off her chin, nose, and eyelashes, but Cara felt nothing except his touch. 

_What is it about someone else touching your head and hair that feels so damn good?_ she wondered. 

When her hair and injury had been cleaned to his satisfaction, he turned off the water and toweled the ends of it. Then he guided her back to the bed, applied some cream to the cut that would discourage infection, and gave her some pills to reduce swelling. He put ointment on the small scratches marring her face from the thorn bushes she had encountered when she escaped the bounty hunters. Finally, he helped her into the sleeveless top she slept in. 

“How many hours until we reach Coruscant?” she asked, when he was finished.

“Twenty-three,” he said, pushing some buttons on his gauntlet.

He was demagnetizing the Beskar from his under-armor, she realized a moment later, when he began pulling off pieces of steel and setting them aside. When he had shed all the armor from his body, save for his helmet, he climbed on the foot of the bed and plopped down with his back against the wall. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing one over the other at the ankles.

“Um...what are you doing?” she asked, still feeling slow of wit and hating every second if it. 

“Like I said, you are probably concussed. I’m going to wake you up every hour tonight until I’m sure you’re okay. I’ll stay here so I don’t wake up the kid getting in and out of the bunk all night. Just lie down, get some rest.”

“You don’t have to,” she found herself saying. 

_Shut up, Cara. The man says he wants to stay with you - in your bed - all night. Don’t argue_ , insisted a voice that was getting harder to ignore. Apparently, Mando was of a like mind. 

“I know. Now get some rest.”

She complied, gingerly lowering herself on her right side, facing away from him. Even though her knees were bent, her feet brushed up against his outstretched legs. She didn’t break the contact, nor did he. Despite the excitement of the day and notwithstanding the hyper-awareness of Mando occupying the same bed she lay in, Cara was bone-weary. It took mere minutes to fall asleep. But it seemed only a few moments had passed before she was being prodded awake. His voice, still gravelly from sleep, became more anxious with each time he repeated her name. 

“I’m awake,” she muttered.

“Look up at me,” he said, and she did.

The dim of the room coupled with vision blurry from sleep made it difficult to make out more than just his silhouette hovering above her. Then a bright light assaulted her eyes and she tried to turn away, but he caught her chin with his fingers. 

“The response is still a bit sluggish,” he noted, flicking the light in and out of her field of vision a few times. His fingers released her jaw to explore the base of her skull - “The swelling has gone down though, so that’s good. Alright, you can go back to sleep - I’ll wake you again in an hour.”

His hand disentangled from her hair and she felt the mattress shift as he retreated to his previous position near her feet. Cara felt inexplicably bereft of something when he was gone, even though he was still right next to her. Impulsively, she snatched her pillow and swung around to the foot of the bed. She propped it up on his thigh and curled herself next to him, resting her head once again on the pillow against his leg.

To her surprise, he didn’t offer a single objection or question what she was doing. She felt him draw a deep breath and then exhale it slowly. His leg beneath her head twitched a little, but he did not remove it or push her away. She felt the brush of his fingertips in the hair atop her head, near her hairline. He barely touched her at first, but then he grew bolder and reached into the thick tresses, combing through that one spot with small, unhurried movements. She tried to decipher the intent behind his show of affection. It might have been the intimate touch of a lover - it certainly elicited enough pleasure in her to qualify as such. But she had to consider that, to him, it could be no more than the absentminded stroking of something one was fond of...like scratching behind the velvety soft ears of a pet. 

But then he whispered in a voice so soft, she wondered if she was meant to hear it, “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

So that was it. He had been worried about her. It was not unexpected; she had detected the stress in his voice the whole time they had been apart. It occurred to her that they were rarely separated on this job. She had come to know him enough over the last few months to realize that he was very protective of those he allowed close to him - which was really only herself and the kid. He trusted her prowess in a fight, but that didn’t stop him from closely guarding her back when they were in danger. The sentiment went both ways, of course; she was fiercely protective of him and the little creature in their care. It had always been something that went unspoken between them. 

But now, he was giving voice to those feelings. She wondered what the admission cost him. He was a man who had spent most of his life alone, not having to worry about anyone but himself. One fateful job had irrevocably changed his entire life, when he made the decision to care about one person more than himself or his own well-being. The decision seemed to have shifted something within in, because here he was, less than a year later with _two_ people in his life he cared about. His life had been a lonely one before; he never had to deal with the emotions that came with opening himself up to others. When you had a partner, a team, or a family (blood related or found), you opened yourself up to pain more intense than the stab of a knife or the burn of a blaster bolt. 

Loss. 

He protected them because he cared for them. He cared for them to the point that he did not want to lose them. The idea of losing them - losing _her_ \- caused him grief, and here he was expressing that to her in actual words. If she was honest with herself, she felt the same way. They were a family, albeit a strange one, and she did not want to let go of the feeling of belonging she felt with them. She thought she had joined them because she wanted to help out, and it was nice to be able to move freely on an unregistered ship from place to place, rather than be stuck on one backwater planet until she could find a ride that suited her. The truth was, after leaving the Rebels (rather, the New Republic) and her team, she had felt very, very alone. She didn’t just want to tag along with this eccentric Mandalorian and his unspeakably adorable green child for shits and giggles...she _needed_ a family. She needed them. She loved them. She loved him.

 _I love him._ _And not just as a friend...not anymore._

The heat coiling in her belly at the feeling of his fingers in her hair was proof enough. Cara hated liars, and so she always made it a point never to lie - even to herself. So she admitted it; silently, only to herself. She loved this man whose name she didn’t even know. She loved this man whose face she had never seen. It was absurd. But it was the truth. She was a damn fool for letting it happen, but it was too late now. She wouldn’t tell him, naturally. There was nothing that would entice her to put this precious sense of belonging she had found in jeopardy. 

_Not even if he felt the same?_ She asked herself - the voice of the optimistic, hopeful girl of her youth.

A naive girl. _I’m not his type_ , insisted the wiser woman she had become. _I’m not some lovely, feminine, farmer’s widow with years of experience being a mother._

_He likes strong women. Omera was a strong and determined fighter. We’re not all that different._

_There’s a big difference between a woman who_ can _fight if the need arises, and a woman who chooses to fight as soon as opportunity knocks. I like violence._

_You like justice; so does he. And you may not have a lot of experience, but you’re not immune to the charms of motherhood either._

_I..._ why was she even arguing with herself over this? 

Gentle pressure on her scalp reminded her that she never answered him - if indeed he had intended to say what he said out loud. She debated how to respond, and decided to be as honest with him about her feelings as she dared.

“I’m glad I made it home.”

His fingers stopped their ministrations, and she wondered if it had been a mistake to say anything at all. 

“Home?” he repeated slowly, as if the taste of the word was foreign on his tongue.

Where she lay on her uninjured shoulder, her face was turned in toward his body. She shifted her head over to the edge of her pillow, her forehead brushing his hip bone. It was dangerously close to places she had no business touching, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

“Home,” she confirmed, her voice muffled by the fabric where the outside of his thigh met his torso.

He didn’t say anything else, but as she fell back asleep against him, his fingers resumed their activity in her hair, and she hid a smile. He woke her again no less than three more times over the course of the sleep cycle. Finally, he seemed satisfied that her head injury was no longer a concern. Even then, he stayed with her and dozed on her bunk a few hours more, before eventually rising to feed the hungry little one who had toddled into her room looking for them. 


	4. The Whole Truth

Cara’s head felt clear when she awoke from a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep. The pain in her shoulder had subsided to a dull ache, only giving her occasional grief when she raised her left arm above her head. She sponge bathed the sweat and grime from her body and changed into a fresh set of clothes. Making use of the mirror in her room, she applied some more ointment to the cuts on her face, which were already beginning to fade. She changed the bandage on her shoulder as well, satisfied to find no redness or swelling around the closed up flesh to suggest infection. She ran a brush through her hair and styled it as best she could with one arm. Folding her bed back up against the wall, she resisted the urge to gaze at the spot where she and Mando had spent most of the night sleeping next to each other. 

Feeling refreshed and put together, she left her room and stepped through the galley into the cockpit’s anteroom. Mando had locked the cockpit doors in the open position, and he turned from where he sat in the pilot’s seat to greet her.

“Cara--”

“Hold that thought - gotta piss,” she cut him off before sliding down the ladder to the vac unit.

Once done, she climbed back up and slid into the seat next to him. The baby, who was sitting in his makeshift repulsor-seat behind her, immediately held his arms up to her. Not even bothering to hide her grin, she scooped him up and set him in her lap, warming all over when he offered her a tiny toothed smile and cooed. 

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too, squirt.”

“How are you feeling?” Mando asked.

“A whole hell of a lot better than I did when we went to sleep,” she answered.

The words just slipped out of her mouth without a single, solitary, forethought and she mentally cursed herself for how it sounded. To her horror, she felt her cheeks grow warm all the way up to the top of her ears. What was wrong with her? Why was she embarrassed at saying the words “ _we_ went to sleep”, which were completely accurate and not at all indicative of anything romantic going on between them? After all, she regularly teased him with much more provocative suggestions. 

_Because it wasn’t innuendo this time - you really did sleep together the entire night in the same bed,_ she reminded herself.

_Whatever, you need to fix this. How do I make this less embarrassing?_

“I guess I should thank you for playing nursemaid. Despite your efforts to keep me up the entire night, I actually did wake up feeling better. We should do it again sometime.”

_Yep, keep digging, this is great._

“Also, I think we should make head massages a new tradition. I’ll do you if you do me.”

_Shut up, shut up, just shut the kriff up._

He just sat there with his head cocked to one side and let her make a fool of herself, not saying a word. Not a damn word. The silence stretched out between them until it was uncomfortable. Was he going to tease her back? Berate her? Just ignore everything she said? Even the kid was totally quiet, looking from one of them to the other, as if even he could sense the extreme wrongness of this entire exchange.

When she could bear it no longer, she asked, “Sooooo...how much longer until we reach Coruscant?”

He visibly shook himself, as if the previous part of their conversation were something that needed to be stricken from the records of his mind, and replied, “Twelve hours.”

“So what’s the plan when we get there?” she asked.

“You tell me. I still don’t have any idea who this guy is, what he said to you, or where he is on the planet.”

 _Oh, right._ “Riddick is an old acquaintance from when I was a dropper; New Republic intelligence. He was usually the guy who briefed us when our jobs started to get boring - escorting delegates and stuff like that. But if there were any assets we needed to protect from Imperial remnant assassins or sympathizers, he always had the goods on who we needed to look out for. He is the best in the business at ferreting out the Imp holdouts - especially the higher ups and in-between men. If anyone would have anything on Moff Gideon, it’s Brice Riddick.”

“What was his response to your message?”

“He said he’ll do it…” she hesitated, unsure of whether or not to tell him the provisions. He would find out himself eventually, so better to let it come from her. “But he wants me to give him the whole story of why I left, first. He said if he finds my answer satisfactory, he’ll consider helping out.”

“ _If_ he finds your answer satisfactory, he’ll _consider_ helping out?” Mando repeated. “And do you think he will?”

Cara sucked in a deep breath, “Honestly, I don’t know. I think he will. But what other choices do we really have?”

“We could find someone else. We can meet somewhere other than Coruscant. We can do some digging ourselves. We have a _lot_ of other choices.”

“Even if he doesn’t like my answer, he said he wouldn’t turn me in,” she said.

“And you trust him?”

She hesitated, “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

“Because, I don’t believe he would betray me.”

“Why?” he repeated.

“He just...wouldn’t. There’s history there. It’s complicated.”

He dipped his chin a little and Cara just knew he had one eyebrow raised at her underneath that damn helmet.

“What does “it’s complicated” mean, exactly?”

“We were together for a while, okay? It ended not long after it began - but it wasn’t because of a fight or anything. We just went our separate ways and didn’t look back. It wasn’t really serious to begin with, so there weren’t any hard feelings.”

“So we’re going to a planet that has a massive New Republic presence to meet up with your ex-boyfriend - a New Republic _intelligence officer_ \- who is going to listen to you confess the whole story of what you did on the mission that made you run away from the military, and then he may or may not help us out depending on how much he likes the story...and he promises not to rat out the woman who _amicably_ broke up with him?” he asked dubiously. 

“Basically,” she replied, trying not to let his doubts discourage her.

“Does this sound like a bad idea to you too, kid?” he asked, turning his attention to the child in her arms who was currently gnawing on one of the leather sleeves she wore under her gauntlets. 

The baby blinked at him, but never stopped chewing. He was drooling all over her arm, but Cara ignored it. He was probably cutting new teeth or something.

“It will be fine,” she insisted. “The address is mid-city, so it shouldn’t be too hard to land the ship. You said this ship’s not registered with the New Republic - so they don’t even know to be looking for it. You can scramble her ID and we can land down there without worrying about surface patrols recognizing us. _I’m_ the one the New Republic wants, not you. Me being with you on this ship gives us a good shot of getting through undetected.”

She pulled up a holomap and punched up the address Riddick had given her.

“What if they get a lock on your chain code? Coruscant has so many scanners, you won’t be able to walk a city block without it being detected.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too,” she said, scanning the area around his domicile for a likely landing platform or dock. “Ooh, this is good. Look at this,” she said, pointing to a square patch on the building’s three dimensional imagery that was marked in red to contrast it from the blue of the structure.

Mando swung his seat around and leaned in to inspect the map, “His house has a small landing platform on the roof? Convenient.”

“See? We don’t have to worry about anyone scanning my chain code. We can fly right up to his place without having to land on a public platform. No credits passed, no chain codes scanned, no questions asked.”

“Did you give him a time frame for when we’d be there?”

“Not really, just said we were on our way. But we can probably send a direct message to him once we’re planetside.”

“No. I don’t want this ship having any communications that can be traced. My comm system was not designed for anything more than rudimentary scrambling. If this guy is intelligence, he’ll probably have the capability of slicing my system if he can establish a direct connection, and I’m not going to give him the chance. I’ll ask this one more time - do you trust him?”

Cara took a deep breath. No lies. Not even the ones that take on the guise of optimism. 

“Not entirely. Like you said, he’s intelligence.”

“Okay,” he said, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. 

He sat for a moment, and she could practically hear the wheels in his head turning as he examined every angle of what they were about to do. Time and experience was teaching them to be cautious, and now that they had two new bounty hunters on their tails, they needed to think this through carefully.

“Here’s how this is going to go. We land. We go in together --”

“Together? Are you sure that’s a good idea? I never told him about you or the kid, so shouldn’t we try to keep you out of this?”

“One: you just said you didn’t entirely trust him, so I’m not going to let you go in there alone. That didn’t turn out so well last time,” he jutted his chin at her shoulder for emphasis. “Two: Once we give him Gideon’s name and he starts digging - presuming he doesn’t already have a bead on this guy - he’s going to find out about Nevarro and everything that went down there. He’ll find out about me and the kid eventually.”

“You want to tell Riddick about him?” she asked, looking down at the wee child in her lap.

“No. If he doesn’t already know about him, then by the time he gets that intel, we’ll be long gone. If he does know, I’m not going to walk in there with a baby with special powers and dangle him like an appetizer.”

“But what if he knows something about those powers? What if it has something to do with the Force and the Jedi and all that?”

“I don’t know anything about the Force. Maybe the kid has it - or maybe his species has some kind of natural telekinetic abilities. If this guy can find what Gideon wants him for, that will probably reveal what his powers are. But if it is the Force or something like that, the last thing I want is for the New Republic to get into some sort of tug of war with the Imperial remnants for him. He deserves the chance to be a kid, not used as some kind of pawn in a bigger game.”

Cara considered the baby in her lap. He had stopped chewing on the leather around her forearm. He sat with his back leaned up against her stomach, the index and ring fingers of her left hand in his claws. He was gently guiding them back and forth, as if mesmerized by the movement of the joints. Sometimes she didn’t quite know what to make of him. He seemed to be able to comprehend much of what went on around him, picking up on their emotions and reading situations accurately. But at other times, he acted just like a normal baby, fascinated by the simplest things, like how fingers work. He continued to manipulate her hand into various positions, as if trying to determine what was going on beneath the surface. 

“Mando,” she said, suddenly.

He had been watching the kid as well, and now he raised his visor toward her face, waiting for her to continue.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Yeah, we might be able to find out about Gideon and then take him out, but then what? If the New Republic finds out about him, they’ll want him too, just like you said. We’ll be trading one set of pursuers for another.”

“Do you think the New Republic will hunt us down just like the Imps?”

“I...I don’t know. Look, I’m a soldier, not a law expert. But what legal right do we have to him under any written codes? What if they claim that you just kidnapped him and try to take him away from us?”

“Us?” he asked in a low voice.

Damn it, she did it again. 

_You know what, I don’t even care. This is how I feel, and he might as well know it._

“Yes, ‘us’,” she doubled down, wrapping her free arm around the child and clutching him closer to herself. “You’re not the only one who cares about him, you know? Yeah, you have the prior claim - I’m not trying to take that away from you. It’s not like I’m claiming him as my kid or anything. He’s yours. But you have to know by now that I’d do anything for you two. I don’t want to see him used for experiments...or to be carted off to some hokey religious temple where they indoctrinate him into their sacred order. I’ll die before I let anyone - _anyone_ \- take him away.”

Her little speech left her throat raw - not from the force of the words, but the emotions that were rising in her that pulled her vocal chords taught as bowstrings. She almost felt like crying and she didn’t understand why. She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and schooled her face into a determined expression. He watched her struggle silently, knowing he didn’t miss a thing. She was almost angry at herself for being so transparent. She wasn’t like this. Her life had taught her to be hard, and to keep her feelings firmly in hand. Some emotions were fine to bare to others - like anger. But affection; love? She was supposed to keep those tamped down, or else they would coil back to bite her. 

But things were different now, weren’t they? She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t exactly a mercenary either. She started down that path in the first place because she wanted to _help_ people. She wanted to fight tyranny. And revenge. She wanted to make the Empire pay for what they had done to her family. Now, her priorities were shifting again. She was still fighting the Empire, but it wasn’t revenge or justice or ideals motivating her. It was love. Love of these two adorable idiots who would have been dead twenty times over if not for her. Another chunk of the walls she had maintained around her heart for so many years crumbled to dust. And he was still just sitting there, watching it happen. 

“I know.”

Two simple words, but the depth of emotions behind them spoke enough to fill the pages of volumes. His voice cracked when he said it. She had always been amazed how he managed to communicate so much through body language and the tones in his voice. It was as if he had learned to compensate for the mask that he was compelled to wear, daring to reveal himself in spite of his devotion to a Way that demanded he be shrouded in mystery - a small, but meaningful act of rebellion. She liked rebels. 

He _knew_. And she had no doubt that he knew everything. Well, maybe not everything - he probably didn’t know she was falling in love with him - but he knew she cared for him and the child, and that was enough. As if he doubted that his words had effectively expressed his sentiment, he reached to her and closed his hand around her arm, squeezing the bars of her shock trooper tattoo briefly before letting go and sitting back once more.

“But this is a chance we have to take. We can’t be so afraid of the enemy we don’t know, that we fail to act against the enemy we do know. You were right before - we can’t do this alone. We need help. Neither of us have much faith in the New Republic, but what they stand for is something we can agree on. If we have to formally adopt him to be able to lay claim to him, so be it - but we can cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s deal with the problem at hand.”

 _‘If we have to formally adopt him’? We? He said ‘we’, that_ relentlessly hopeful inner voice screamed.

_Get a grip, Cara. He is accepting me as part of his family - which is what I wanted - what I dreamt of. But that doesn’t mean he’s asking for my kriffing hand in marriage. He just gave me what I wanted most in the whole the galaxy, don’t spoil it by being greedy._

“Okay,” she said, burying her emotions and hitching the corner of her mouth up in her trademark cocky smirk, “Let’s do this. From the top again... _we_ go in together, and then what?”

* * *

  
When they dropped out of hyperspace, the massive expanse of Coruscant loomed up before them. The entire planet was one city stretching east to west, north to south. Buildings erected upon the foundations of buildings raised upon yet more buildings, miles deep to the forgotten surface of the globe. Untold millennia of construction and reconstruction had built this planet into what it was - the home of two trillion citizens, the largest population of any known celestial body. Once the capital of the entire galaxy, it had witnessed the greatest political power shift in recorded history - the restructuring of the Galactic Republic into the Galactic Empire. There were many still residing there who remained loyal to the Empire even after its demise. That, the reason the New Republic had chosen another system as their capital. Too much history here, good and bad. The galaxy had needed a fresh start. 

The atmosphere below them emitted a rosy tint above the bone white glow of the cities below. Even on the bright side, one could see the patterns of lights marking the boundaries of districts the size of continents, looking like geometric patterns cut into crop fields, only on a planetary scale. Those shapes became even more visible on the dark side of the planet, which was their destination. 

The _Razor Crest_ made its approach, falling in with the trajectories of hundreds of other ships coming and going from the surface. A slight vibration throughout the ship marked their entry, lessening when Mando switched the engine operations over to atmospheric mode - consistent with their original design. 

The shipboard comm chimed with an incoming signal, and Mando opened the frequency, sharing a look with Cara as they waited for the operator on the other end.

“Unidentified gunship, please submit your identification codes and state your business,” a man’s voice droned in monotone.

“This is modified transport _LZ-47_ , delivering a shipment of exotics to a private menagerie. Submitting I.D. codes and manifest now.”

Cara held her breath as she waited for the air traffic controller to respond. 

“Mod trans _LZ-47,_ you are cleared for entry,” he said, after a few moments.

Mando closed the channel and muttered, “I can’t believe that worked.”

“One of the benefits of going to a planet that has hundreds of thousands of ships coming and going every day - they don’t have the time or resources to be overly curious.”

“Gives a whole new meaning to ‘hiding in plain sight’, I guess,” he said. 

“Guess so.”

He expertly guided the craft through the less traveled mid atmosphere highways until they were above the correct district, then descended through the vertical drop lanes and merged into the bustling traffic of the upper city levels. They located the shining spire that crested the structure they were looking for, descending along its western wall to the mid levels. Most of the transports here were small speeders and intra-atmosphere personal vehicles. Navigating the _Razor Crest_ in the narrow confines between the buildings this far down was delicate work, but Mando was a good pilot.

“One of these days, you’re gonna have to teach me to fly her,” Cara commented.

“I didn’t know you were interested in learning.”

“I mean, I can fly bikes and speeders and all that, but I never really had the opportunity to learn the nuances of flying spacecraft before.”

“We can fix that,” he promised. “There. Is that the platform?”

She shifted her attention to where he was pointing, “Yeah, I think that’s it. Here goes nothing.”

He set down on a landing platform just big enough to accommodate the bulky gunship. The pad was on a section of roof set over a large building that protruded from the side of the main structure. The building beneath them stretched down further than could be seen, but the address they sought was located in the penthouse, directly beneath the landing platform. Cara assumed that the use of the landing platform was reserved solely for the person who dwelt in the uppermost domicile. She hoped so anyway.

“So, now we wait,” he stated, leaning back in his seat. 

“Do you think I should go out and see if he’s home?”

“You told him we were on our way and now we’re here. Everything has been on his terms. He can come out and meet us himself. Until you have visual confirmation that it’s really him, no one is leaving this ship.”

“Okay. You got Bean to sleep, right?”

“Yeah, I fed him that meat stew you made until he was ready to pop. He’ll probably sleep it off for the next eight hours.”

“Nice. Gotta love a baby in a food coma. You did lock the door to your rack, just in case though?”

“Yeah.”

“So we’re not coming back to a carbon frozen baby?”

“Yes! That was one time, he knows better than to touch it again. Stop being such a worrier.”

“Oh, that’s _rich_ coming from you, considering I’ve seen you in full on panicked-Dad-mode at least once a week since we’ve been together,” she teased, grinning toothily when he swung his head in her direction.

He was preparing a retort when motion across the landing pad captured both their attentions. A door accessing the roof slide open and a lone figure strode across the platform toward their ship.

“That’s Riddick,” she stated.

One could hardly mistake him. Brice Riddick was the sort of man who left a strong impression, for better or worse. He was handsome in a way that drew the attention of both women and men. Tall, well-built, and graceful without sacrificing any masculinity, he exuding an air of confidence - arrogance, to those who knew him better. His had a long, straight nose, set on a face framed with sharp cheekbones and a strong chin. His thick dirty-blonde hair was longer than she remembered, swept back from his forehead in a becoming style. He was stupidly beautiful. And he knew it. He stopped in front of the ship, braced his hands on his hips and threw Cara a wolfish grin.

“I hate him already,” Mando commented.

“If it makes you feel any better, I hate him too,” she laughed, patting his shoulder as she swung out of her chair. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

They descended the ladder into the hold, Mando pausing by the door to his bunk to listen for signs of movement. Satisfied their charge was still asleep, he dropped the starboard ramp and exited the ship ahead of Cara. Brice’s grin faltered almost imperceptibly at the sight of the Mandalorian approaching, but widened when Cara drew alongside to greet him.

“Cara Dune,” he said, his voice still the alluring baritone she recalled. “I never thought I’d see you in civilized space again.”

“Yeah, well - just being here is risky for all of us, so what do you say we take this inside?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your companion, first?” he asked.

“Sure. Riddick, Mando. Mando, Riddick,” she said, already irritated more than she ought to be.

“Mando? That’s not exactly a name,” he commented.

“It’s the only name you’re getting,” Mando growled at him. “Are we going in or what?”

Cara tried not to the dwell on the fact that it was the only name she was trusted with either, and she had been with them for nearly half a year. 

“Of course, right this way,” Riddick turned sideways and motioned them in front of him. 

At Mando’s hesitation, she stepped around him and walked into the entryway. There were no other doors on the inside of the small space. As soon as Riddick followed them inside, he touched a few buttons on a control panel and the floor beneath them descended to the main level of his home. The room materialized around them as the platform came to rest with a slight hiss of hydraulics. Cara stepped out into a beautifully furnished living area that looked like it belonged to the rich domain of the upper city. To her right, one could step down into a sitting area with two luxurious white couches and an overstuffed chair. A water feature in the middle of that room tinkled its soft aquatic notes. Ahead of her was a long open bar with eight stools pulled up to the counter and a truly impressive array of liquors and other exotic adult beverages behind it. A dining table was to her far left and beyond that, a hallway that she assumed led to the sleeping quarters. Every exterior wall boasted a floor to ceiling set of massive windows that were equipped with holoprojectors. Instead of showing what was actually outside them - the dark sides of buildings in every direction - they displayed a nighttime panoramic view of the Senate district, topside. 

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she commented, stepping off the elevator. 

“You’d be surprised how lucrative the intelligence business can be,” he replied, stepping around her and moving toward the bar. 

_Not working solely for the New Republic, it’s not_ , she thought, but bit her tongue. They needed him; there was no cause to rankle him right out of the gate.

“I guess so,” she said instead.

“Can I get you something, Cara?” he asked, motioning to the bar. “The usual? I’d offer your partner a beverage, but I’m going to assume he doesn’t partake in public.”

“I’ll take a Corellian rum-runner,” she said, only because she didn’t want to satisfy him by asking for the “usual” spiced ale that was still her favorite.

He raised an eyebrow at her, as if he knew exactly why she had picked a different drink, but refrained from commenting on it.

“Please make yourselves comfortable, he said, gesturing to the couches by the fountain. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Cara made her way over, throwing a look over her shoulder at Mando, who followed her reluctantly. He was out of his element here, Cara realized. Truth be told, so was she. When she had known Riddick, he had been living in an apartment on a space colony. It wasn’t a dump, but it was nowhere near the opulence he currently surrounded himself with. He’d come very far in a mere four years, and she knew he didn’t get where he was by being strictly on the up-and-up. Still, she wasn’t going to let the fact that he had a nice house intimidate her into being anything other than herself.

She took the couch to their right, choosing the far corner. She almost crossed her legs, but then decided to stretch them out in front of her, feet crossed at the ankles. Riddick was very good at reading body language, and she didn’t want him to think she was uncomfortable or feeling pressured to act more ladylike. Mando chose not to sit at all, but positioned himself directly behind her. She turned around to look at him, a bit perturbed that he had left her alone on the couch, especially because she _really_ didn’t want Riddick to come sit next to her. He was leaning up against a wall about six feet from the back of the couch, one hand grasping the wrist of his other arm, resting them both on his belt. He looked relaxed to the untrained eye, but she could tell he was very much on edge. And if she could tell, Riddick probably could too. 

Movement beside her drew her attention as Riddick lowered himself to the cushion right next to her and handed her the rum. He was so close, she could smell whatever expensive cologne he had dabbed on that morning. 

“So,” he began, turning toward her as he leaned back into the cushions and threw an elbow over the back of the couch. “I gotta admit, I was really skeptical when I saw your message. How we left things has never really sat well with me, so I imagine you have to be pretty hard up to come to me for help.”

She shrugged, resisting the urge to lean away from him.

“How I left had nothing to do with you, and you know it,” she replied evenly, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, I am aware. But you left without a word. Just gone.”

“That’s how it went down. Once it was done, there was no way I could have contacted you, even if I wanted to.”

“‘It’ is a small word to describe what you did back there on Batiri. You arranged to have a New Republic ally assassinated.”

Cara almost flinched, but her expression only altered by narrowing her eyes and tightening her jaw. She had hoped that she could have had this conversation with Riddick alone, without Mando listening - especially not with him standing behind them like a tense chaperone and her being unable to gauge his reactions. She cleared her throat and schooled her features.

“That’s not what happened.”

“No? Then enlighten me. How _did_ it happen, Cara?”

His voice softened when he said her name, almost as if he wanted to believe everything she said - as if he was pleading with her to give him an explanation that would allow him to forgive her. She was well aware that it was a tactic meant to disarm her. Riddick didn’t care about her personally, he never had. What they had, brief as it was, had been for fun. It had been just another flavor of the month for him and a distraction for her. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even “like”. It was getting hammered every night and an opportunity for her to explore all the things she thought she was missing out on. Turns out, those things didn’t really matter to her after all, if it wasn’t with some _one_ who mattered to her. She didn’t even remember half of it.

She fixed him with a cold stare, “Look, you want to know what happened? Here’s what happened. The New Republic decided to toss their morals in the gutter when they let a sleemo like Gristoria keep his authority. He only switched sides at the very end when he saw that the Empire was going down. He had spent twenty-five years getting fat off of their credits, and then he had the balls to say he had no choice - it was serve or die. Well - yeah - no shit, that’s how it was with everyone under the Empire. But he _profited_ from it for decades. They looked the other way while he ran his little sex slave trade on the side. 

And then the New Republic takes over, and what do they do? Take him out of power? No. Of course not, because his _other_ exports were too valuable to overlook. So instead, they sent my team in there to protect his crooked ass. The excuses for him never ended: He had a stable government; it was too risky to replace him; we couldn’t crack down on the trafficking without disrupting everything else. Even after my team _sent_ you guys all the proof you needed for how bad it was down there, all we got was the bureaucratic run-around and empty promises that something would be done. 

Well guess what? Something was done. I did it. I didn’t _arrange_ for him to be assassinated - he had ex Imps and locals lining up for that job all by himself. I just let it happen. And what was the fallout? Did the whole thing collapse? No. His son - who amazingly enough was a decent guy - took over, shut down the slavery rings and increased the legal exports that we needed. No coup d’etat, no political upheaval, no socio-economic crash. What I did made things better for everyone except the slavers. _That’s_ what kriffing happened.”

Riddick regarded her for a few beats, before asking, “That’s all of it?”

“I don’t lie, you know that.”

“Everyone lies about something, Cara. You did, just now. Twice.”

“Excuse me?” she growled, leaning toward him. 

Just out of her field of vision, she felt rather than saw Mando tense. Riddick must have noticed too, because he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“No need to get hostile. Though I always thoroughly enjoyed your spitfire attitude, especially when it was applied to more recreational pursuits…”

She shook her head slowly at him, her eyes blazing. They were _not_ talking about that now.

“All I meant was that you told me the truth, but you kept some of it back, didn’t you? You said ‘I’ did something about it, but that's not quite right, is it? You didn’t come up with the plan alone. Someone else on your team helped you.”

It wasn't a question. He knew. There wasn’t any point in hiding it - not anymore.

“If you already know the answer, why bother asking?” she ground out between clenched teeth. 

“I do know the answer. And I know who it was. It was a damn shame what happened to him. But I want you to tell me the whole truth. There’s no point in protecting him now, is there?”

His tone wasn’t exactly flippant, but close enough to it that rage rose up under Cara’s skin and threatened to boil over. If she stared at his handsome, smug face for a moment longer, she was going to have a hard time resisting the urge to rearrange it. She abruptly stood up, and wheeled around to face the windows beyond the sitting area. As she drew close to them, she could see the small grains of the image in front of her, betraying it as a hologram instead of the real deal. Nevertheless, the scene was beautiful. Peaceful. As other images threatened to cloud her mind- horrible, bloody scenes - she focused on the false tranquility of Coruscant's skyline. 

_You have to do this,_ she reminded herself. _For that innocent little one to have a shot at a life that neither you nor Mando ever enjoyed, you have to do this. You lived it once and survived. You can talk about it now._

“I wasn’t alone,” she said, hating the resignation in her voice. “Keeve was in on it with me. He had been assigned to protect Gristoria’s son, Markel - as I’m sure you’re aware. Markel was less of a target, since he didn’t have any real power to speak of, so they only assigned one of us to him. They got close, and Markel began to open up to Keeve about how he viewed his father’s business habits. Needless to say, he wasn’t down with it. The kid was a lot smarter than his dad gave him credit for. He had even come up a three phase plan to get rid of the slave industry on his planet without crashing its economy. 

Keeve knew how much I hated what was going on there - hell, we all did. He told me about what Markel’s plans were. I told him we should take the information to the higher-ups. Maybe all they needed was a little assurance they weren’t going to lose out on what they needed. But he convinced me that they would never listen. The risk wasn’t worth it to them. So we decided to do it ourselves. 

We had gotten wind of another assassination plot on Gristoria that was supposed to take place at the end of the month - coinciding with some sort of local festival that he would have to make a public appearance for. The damn rat was so paranoid, he rarely left the palace - but he couldn’t worm his way out of this one. 

We got the intel we needed - where and when. After that, it was only a matter of making sure that we left a gap in the security without anyone else on the team being aware. That was the hard part, but we pulled it off. Keeve arranged to have Drex assigned to Markel that day, so he was on the big boss with us. 

The plan went off without a hitch. They got their opening and took it. Gristoria got a bolt in the head and we hunted the bastards down and killed them. All except two. They had infiltrated the palace while we were busy with Gristoria’s assassins. Their target was Markel. Drex got pinned down and called for backup. Keeve and I broke off from the others and doubled back to the palace. When we got to their location, Drex was still in a firefight with the other two, but losing ground. One of them had just about managed to flank him and Markel. Keeve saw what was about to happen and just...ran in.”

Cara paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. She shook her head to try and clear the images, but how could she tell the story without reliving it? It was impossible. Sucking in a shaky breath, she forced the words over her tongue.

“I covered him. Drex stood up and took out the other guy, and then Keeve shot the one who had flanked them. But when he dropped, he threw a thermal detonator at Markel. Keeve jumped on top of it. When it went off, Markel and Drex got blown backwards, but I was far enough away it didn’t reach me. Would you believe he was still alive when I got to him? He was in two fragging pieces, but he was still alive. He died choking on his blood telling me...he told me…”

“It’s okay, Cara. I don’t need to know.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her arm and turned to him, grief taking the edge out of her tone, “I thought you wanted to know _everything._ ”

“I wanted the whole story - you gave it to me. I’m sorry about what happened to Keeve, I know how you felt about him.”

“No, you don’t. But it’s done. Now, did you find my answer ‘satisfactory’?”

“Yes,” he said, rising from the couch to approach her, stopping a good four feet away. 

“What you may not have known is that I was assigned to the investigation to mop up that mess.”

“You? Why would they bring you in on it instead of law enforcement investigators?”

“I had a better handle on the Imperial remnants and how they operated, so they brought me in as a consultant. When you disappeared, they charged you alone with the crime and put a bounty on you. But I knew that you couldn’t have been alone. My investigation pointed to Keeve, but no one else on your team could offer any evidence to corroborate my theory. That was truly the most ingenious part of all of it - that you managed to pull it all off without any of the others knowing.”

“So that’s what all this was about? You just wanted me to tell you Keeve was in on it so that you could be proved _right_? Are you shitting me?” 

She took a step toward him, her fingers balled into fists. Mando pushed off the wall and started toward them, empty handed, but looking as if he were ready to fight - or maybe stop her. This was not about her, she reminded herself again. It was not about Keeve. It was not about Riddick. It was not about what happened four years ago. She paused, and leveled an icy glare at the man in front of her. 

“Are you going to help or not?”

He made a show of considering - which just pissed her off more - before finally saying, “Yes. Yes, I will. Give me the name.”

“Moff Gideon,” Mando spoke for the first time since they had walked in from the landing pad.

He slid next to her, his shoulder just in front of hers, as he squared off in front of Riddick. Brice was a few inches taller than him, but the spy conceded a foot and stepped back. He eyed the armored man in front of him, as if trying to assess why he was suddenly dealing with him now instead of her. Cara was thankful for the reprieve; she felt as though she was losing control of herself and she needed a minute to reign in her emotions.

“I’m still not quite sure of your role in all this, Mando. When Cara contacted me, I was under the impression than she was the one on the run from some bothersome ex-Imperial. But now that you’ve told me Moff Gideon is the one you’re dealing with, I’m beginning to think this isn’t about her at all.”

“What do you know about him?” Mando asked.

“He was one of the few Imperial officers who actually took an interest in the culture and religion of the Jedi and the Sith. He was obsessed with the Emperor and Darth Vader, and it was his loyalty to them that allowed him to rise in the ranks so quickly. Since the Battle of Endor, he’s been collecting data on the Sith, digging up artifacts - things like that. He seems to think that if he can revive them, he can revive the Empire somehow, or some such thing. We're not really sure what his exact motives are.

After Endor, there wasn't any central leadership within the Imperial remnants, and they seemed to be in the process of cleaning house - trimming the fat and seeing who landed on top. Gideon stayed well away from all that, keeping his ship and resources well hidden. There had been a report that he was executed for war crimes, but it proved false. The Imps mostly disappeared into the unknown regions. But if Gideon has crept out of the shadows to pursue you, you must have something that he wants _very_ badly.”

Riddick paused, looking from one to the other. He gave a half shrug when they offered him no further explanation and continued, “I haven’t heard anything about Gideon for a while, but I did get a tip a few months back on a man who has worked with him before. He was holed up on Nevarro. Seems this guy hired a bounty hunter to recover a package from Arvala-7. The hunter got it, delivered it, received payment, then went back and stole back the package and took off with it - shooting up a lot of Bounty Hunter Guild members on the way out. If memory serves, that hunter thought to be a Mandalorian.”

He gave them both an opportunity to reply, and when once more they failed to give credence to his implied conclusion, he strode over to one of the couches, plopping down rather unceremoniously. He picked up his drink, took a long drag from the glass, then propped his elbow on the armrest, rotating the cup in slow circles and watching the ice swirl around the circumference. 

He leveled them with a pointed expression, “Look, I’m happy to help you Cara - and your partner. But if you want good intel from me, I’m going to need as much information as you can give me. I have no interest in whatever it is that Gideon is after you for, only inasmuch as it gets The New Republic closer to catching him. In the grand scheme of things, he’s of small concern, but every Imperial that gets captured or killed is one less we have to deal with later. So what’s it going to be?”

Mando turned over his shoulder to look at Cara. She was still a bit shaken up after recounting her tale, but she set her jaw and gave him a small nod. They were already neck deep in this, there was nowhere to go but forward. If Riddick tried to do them dirty, they’d deal with it. He dipped his chin in reply and turned back to the intelligence officer.

“I am the Mandalorian who stole back the package from the Imperial client. He’s been sending hunters after both me and the asset for months. We met Cara while on the run and she fell in with us. Gideon isn’t after her at all, he just wants us.”

“The “us” you refer to is yourself and the package - which is a person, I presume?

Mando hesitated for so long, Cara wasn’t sure if he would respond.

At last he said, “Yes, a kid. Not human.”

“And this kid - there’s something special about him?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Have you ever seen him do something that you couldn’t explain? Like moving something without touching it?”

“Yes.”

“Then Gideon won’t stop until he has this child. It’ll take me some hours to compile everything I have on him - but I can have a file put together by morning. Why don’t you two spend the night here and I’ll walk you through everything I have over breakfast?”

“No,” Cara and Mando said at the same time.

Riddick let out a bark of laughter, “Oh, come now. If you’re worried about me double crossing you two, don’t. I have everything to gain from you being out there baiting Gideon. If I turned you in now, it wouldn’t help get him captured. Besides, bringing in a moff looks good on a resume. 

You both look like you could use a bath and a good night’s sleep in an actual bed. I have several guest suites to choose from. Assuming you brought the kid with you, you are welcome to retrieve him and let him stay with you.”

To Cara’s surprise, Mando capitulated, “Alright. One night. In the morning, we’ll go over what you have and be on our way.”

“Good. I’ll show you to your rooms. Have you had an evening meal?”

“Not yet,” Cara answered. 

“I’ll have something prepared for you.”

“Does someone else live here?” Cara asked, suddenly on guard.

“Just my housekeeping droid. Shall I have her deliver your meal to your room?” he directed his question to Mando.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Mine as well,” Cara said.

“Aw, I was hoping you would take your meal with me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen your lovely face, I thought it would be nice to catch up.”

“I appreciate that - but all I want right now is a meal, a hot bath, and some shut eye.”

He looked genuinely disappointed, “If you insist. Follow me.”

He led them past the dining area and down the hall she has spotted earlier. To their immediate right was a single door; to the left, the hallway stretched out before them, with two doors on either side and one at the end. 

“Those are my quarters,” he said, gesturing to the single door. 

Mando shouldered into the hall around Cara, “We’ll be sure not to disturb you once we’re settled.”

A sly grin appeared on Riddick’s face, “Depending on the circumstances, I wouldn’t object.”

“Sorry, you’re not my type,” Mando shot back, effectively wiping the expression from the other man’s face.

“No, I imagine not,” he said under his breath.

Cara turned her head to hide her own smirk before following Mando down the hall, “Any one of these will do?” 

“The first door on the left is a refresher unit - the others are all guest rooms. Take your pick, but I would recommend the one at the far end of the hall for you, Cara. I think you’ll enjoy the amenities.”

Wondering what he meant by that, she decided to investigate. She went to the room he indicated, which opened up into a spacious bedroom, lavishly decorated. But apart from a very comfortable looking bed, she was unsure what he was referring to. To the left was another doorway. She followed it into a massive refresher unit that boasted a tub that might as well have been a small swimming pool. It was five feet deep and ten feet square, already filled with water being circulated through a filtration system. A knee wall rimmed the bathing area, with a narrow opening for steps that descended into the water. She knelt next to it and dipped her hand in the warm water. Locating a control panel, she adjusted the temperature up a few degrees and turned the jets on high. She walked back out into the hall just as Mando emerged from one of the rooms adjacent to hers. 

“All good?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” he said, peering down the hall where Riddick had disappeared to procure them a meal.

She stepped close and lowered her voice, “Are you sure you’re good with bringing Bean in here? I thought you said you didn’t want to dangle him.”

“He already knows, we just confirmed his intel. I’d rather be close to him monitoring the situation from inside than up on the landing pad where we can’t keep an eye on him. I still don’t want Riddick to have eyes on the kid though, so I want to bring him in covered. He’s safer with us, and we’re in a better position in here than up there.”

“On his turf?”

“I’m a bounty hunter and you’re a soldier - we’re experts at fighting on other people’s turfs.”

“True.”

“If I stay here to keep an eye on him, will you go get our stuff?”

“Sure. Anything in particular you want me to bring of yours?”

“There’s a pack hanging above my berth, just grab that.”

“Any weapons?”

“I have what I need, you can grab whatever you want.”

As she started to move past him, his hand closed around her upper arm, gently turning her back to face him, “You okay?”

A mirthless smile touched her lips before nodding, “Gotta be.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with the answer, but he released her and followed into the dining area. She crossed the room to the elevator and selected the button for the landing platform, noting that there appeared to be a third floor below the one they were on. Once at the top, she stepped out into the humid night. Down at these levels of the city, there was little air circulation, and the heat generated by the buildings around them made the air feel close - nearly stagnant. Aboard, she went first to her quarters, stuffing a few belongings and her clothes from yesterday in a pack. With any luck, she could have Riddick’s droid get them laundered and mended by morning. She climbed down the ladder and opened the hatch to Mando’s bunk. She grabbed his pack and carefully put a blanket over Bean’s makeshift pram.

When she descended back into the main area, she could hear Riddick and Mando’s voices - but neither of them were in sight. She quietly stepped off the lift into the room. It sounded as if they were perhaps in the kitchen, which she believed to be behind the bar. Their words were muffled, but as she crossed to the hallway, she was able to pick up snatches of the conversation.

“I was under -- pression -- were ---ners, nothing else,” Riddick was saying.

She crept closer to the bar, revealing that there was a slim space behind the wall of beverages that must lead to the galley. 

“What we are or are not is not your concern,” came Mando’s terse reply.

“I noticed you both took separate bed chambers though - so can I assume that whatever is or is not happening between you is non-committal?”

“Assume whatever you like. But after what you put her through tonight, I would _strongly_ suggest you let her be. If she’s in the mood to start things back up with you, that’s her choice. Just let it be on her terms.”

“Cara is perfectly capable of turning a man down if she isn’t interested in his advances. Though, I’ve never known her to reject _my_ advances. She can be a real wildcat...I’m sure you’re aware.”

Mando’s voice took a more dangerous edge, lowering enough that she had to strain to hear his next words, “You’ve got a report to put together. I’d get started on it if I were you.”

If Riddick replied, Cara didn’t hear it. She made her way down the hall, depositing the sleeping baby and Mando’s pack in his room before disappearing into her own. Deciding she was more in need of a bath than food, she stripped down and entered the waiting tub - sighing in relief as the hot water immediately stole the tension from her muscles. She kicked her feet up and floated on her back, spreading her arms and legs to displace her weight. Her muscle mass made her apt to sink, so she arched her back to keep her mouth and nose above the surface. 

Her mind was a tumult of emotions and memories, most of which she was anxious to forget. Yet, she knew she would know no rest until she gave at least some of these matters her attention. Setting aside the pain of her painful recollections, she focused on the exchange she had just overheard. It struck her as odd for Mando to be playing gatekeeper; he had always been one to let her make her own decisions. He still was, in truth - it wasn’t as if he was denying her the choice of going to Riddick if she were so inclined, which she most decidedly was not. This sort of situation had never come up before; the closest thing to either of them being attracted to another person on their travels was their first job on Sorgum. 

She tried not to read into it too much. It certainly did not mean that Mando was trying to keep her to himself. He didn’t forbid Riddick from touching her, just insisted that he let it be on her terms. _“After what you put her through,”_ he had said. It sounded as if he was merely being protective of her mental state, wanting to spare her the task of rejecting Riddick’s advances. That Riddick even wanted to be with her was surprising - especially after how they had left things. But then again, it had never been a true relationship. It had just been sex for the sake of sex - so why would he not explore his options? Feeling bile rise in her throat at the very thought, she set aside the conversation and resolved to think on it no more. She couldn’t possibly deduce Mando’s motives and there was no way to find out, apart from asking him - and she would not do that.

She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She didn’t want to think about _anything_ anymore. She just wanted to clear her head and shut everything else out. A memory niggled her, an aspect of her training so many years ago that had always helped her become calm and centered. Drop soldiers had to undergo much physical conditioning, pushing their bodies to the limits. One way they did this was to increase their lung capacity to its utmost. Droppers were released in the upper atmosphere, where the air was too thin to breathe. Of course, they had oxygen at such altitudes, but should something go wrong, they had to train to hold their breath until they reached a place where the air was breathable. Cara had been able to hold her breath for four and a half minutes at her peak. It had been many years since she had tested the limits of a single breath, and she felt inclined to try now. 

Cara took a few slow, deep breaths, expelling as much spent oxygen out of her lungs as she could before sucking in a final, deep breath. Relaxing every muscle in her body, she flipped over and floated face down in the water. She had always found this particular exercise to be deeply relaxing. She was attuned to every part of her body, consciously slowing her heart and letting everything else fall away save for self-awareness. She felt the slow and steady beat of her pulse in her ears, willing it slow even more. She allowed herself to exist solely in this moment, ignoring all else. No distractions. No worries. No memories. No confusing emotions about the Mandalorian. Nothing. 

Just peace.

Two and a half minutes passed. Her lungs were beginning to tingle, but she was determined to push them further. It had been so long since she had done this, but she knew she could make it past three minutes before surfacing. The jets circulating the bathwater drowned out any other noises apart from her pulse, adding a pleasant ambient drone to her meditation. She was nearing her limit, her lungs burning for release. Just a few seconds more…

The surface of the bath rose and fell with a sudden displacement of water, and before she could make sense of it, arms clamped around her waist and hauled her out of the water. Instincts that had kept her alive for years launched her into defensive mode, and she dropped her feet to the bottom of the pool and pushed backwards, slamming her assailant’s back into the hard tile of the bath.

Her hands gripped the arms around her middle, becoming aware of steel-plated gauntlets encasing the forearms even as Mando’s voice filled her ears.

“Cara, it’s me!”

She stopped struggling, and gasped, “What the hell are you doing?”

His arms left her waist only for his hands to clamp around her shoulders, spinning her around to face him, “That’s my line!”

His tone was angry - no - _livid._ There was something else lurking beneath it, detectable in the tremor beneath his next words.

“I know what happened today was hard for you - but _this_? You could have talked to me! You could have told me how bad it was.”

“What the kriff are you talking about, Mando? I’m in here trying to relax and float in my tub and--”

“Float? _Float_? I knocked outside you door for two minutes before coming in. Then I heard the water jets and assumed you were in the bath, so I tried to get your attention for another minute. You didn’t answer me at all. Nothing. I come in here to find you face down in the water - not moving! So don’t tell me you were just floating, I’m not stupid.”

Realization dawned on Cara’s face in stages. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open to form a wordless “o”. Remorse drew her eyebrows together as she finally identified the second emotion beneath his rage - fear. He thought she had tried to kill herself, and it had terrified him.

His hands still gripped her shoulders, almost bruising in their strength. She placed both hands on the chestplate of his armor, closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, willing her voice to be soft and soothing. “I know what it must have looked like to you, but I _promise_ , I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I was only practicing holding my breath, like I used to in training - it relaxes me. Think about it. Why would I try to kill myself now when we are so close to getting what we want?”

“I --” his voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. “I thought that maybe you were feeling guilt about your teammate.”

She looked down, unable to stop the tears that sprang to her eyes. Blinking, she raised her head again, “I have felt four years of guilt over Keeve, but it hasn’t made me want to kill myself. I have to live for both of us now.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her hands, but his grip on her shoulders loosened. As if suddenly aware that they were in a bathtub, and she was completely naked in his arms, he turned his head to the side and exhaled forcefully.

“I shouldn’t have assumed -- I’m sorry.”

She reached up and touched the side of his helmet, guiding his face back toward her.

“It’s okay, I get it. I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“Scaring you.”

He seemed about to protest, but then he dipped his chin and nodded slightly. Impulsively, she reached her arms around his shoulders and embraced him, the metal on his jaw cold against her cheek. Her shoulder protested the movement, but she ignored the discomfort. He stiffened for a moment before wrapping his arms around her back and holding her tightly against him. One gloved hand found its way into the back of her hair once more, his fingers tangling in the wet strands.

She held him like that for a few more seconds before chuckling softly.

“What?” he asked, but his voice held a note of wariness, like he knew what she was about to say.

“You know, if you wanted to see me naked, there _are_ easier ways to go about it,” she teased.

He made an exasperated sound, but there was a touch of amusement in it. He drew her head back, but kept her pressed close to him - probably to avoid looking at what was under the water. 

“Yeah well, next time you decide to pull a stunt like this, can you choose a better location? It’s going to take hours to dry all this off.”

“I can’t help it if you have a thing for jumping into bodies of water with me - bathtubs, krill ponds…”

He chuffed, “I guess it is getting to be a habit.”

“Speaking of, why did you come in here again?” she asked.

As if realizing he had forgotten something important, he suddenly set her back from him and turned to peer over the wall of the tub. Cara used his shoulders to push herself up in the water and follow his gaze. Bean was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, playing with a bar of soap he had discovered, completely ignoring the two of them. Mando relaxed and turned back to her.

“I thought he could use a bath and the hall refresher unit only has a shower. So I came to see if you had one.”

She laughed, “How about this...you go back to your room and get dried off and changed. I’ll give him a bath and when we’re done, I’ll bring him back. We need to talk about a few things.”

He cocked his head a little at her last sentence, but didn’t press her for an explanation, “That’s fine.”

She pushed away from him in the water so he could get out, crossing her arms over her chest, warning, “No peeking.”

“No promises.”

It was an empty threat, as he was already facing opposite and sloshing up the steps, looking rather like a half-drowned womp rat.

He paused to take off his boots and dump the water out of them. Helping the kid out of his little robes, he set him down at the top of the stairs. 

“Alright buddy, you ready for tubby-time?” she asked, holding her arms out to him. “C’mon, get your cute little baby buns over here.”

As Mando exited the room, water still dripping from every extremity, she turned her attention to the little green alien, who looked even smaller without his clothes on. His stubby legs weren’t long enough to use the steps very well, but he managed by turning his bum toward her and lowering himself down backwards. Cara had only given him sponge baths up until now, so she had no idea if he could swim or not. Reaching up under his arms, she lifted him into the water with her.

He didn’t flinch at the heat, and immediately began batting his hands at the surface and splashing her. When she lowered him further, he began to move his arms and legs as if he were treading water, though she was still holding him up. 

“So you do know what to do with this, huh?”

She let him go on his back in the water, holding one hand beneath him to keep him propped up. His little arms and legs kicked, propelling him forward. She dared to let go, and he stayed afloat by himself. 

“I’m impressed,” she praised him. “Look at you, kid - swimming like a natural.”

He wasn’t very fast, but he definitely knew how to keep from drowning. He paddled in her direction and she picked him up and set him on the second step, where he could wade safely while she retrieved some soap and bathing sponges. When she had what she needed, she sat on the steps with him and lathered them both up. She amused him by giving herself a goatee of bubbles, eliciting a tiny giggle from him. He copied her, and she added some suds to his head, making him look like a tiny old man. Next, she made a game out of having him retrieve the sponges where she set them adrift on the surface. 

When they had spent enough time in the water for each to be pruned, she took him out and dried him, bundling him up in an oversized towel. She rubbed the water from her own skin and brought him into the bedroom to dress herself, selecting a pair of snug bottoms and a long sleeveless top. Forgoing footwear, she scooped him up and padded over to Mando’s room. 

She paused at the door and knocked, hoping she wasn’t interrupting his meal. He called out to her to wait a moment, and she noted that his voice was unaltered by the helmet. She tried not to imagine what he looked like for the five-hundredth time and failed. Shaking her head to clear it, she waited patiently for him to invite her in. 

She had resolved to tell him the whole story of what happened with Keeve and how it related to Riddick. She had told most of it in the living room, more than she had wanted to. But now that it was out, she felt she needed to unburden herself of the details that had never been told. She wanted him to understand what had really happened and why it had changed her so much. No one else - not even any of her former teammates - knew everything. She didn’t owe him an explanation so much as she just wanted to share with him something deep, something personal. 

A small part of her wanted him to know more about it than Riddick did, but that was petty. Maybe she just wanted to prove to him that she trusted him with her past in a way that she had not trusted anyone else. Closing her eyes and bowing her head, she took a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled it slowly. Whatever the motivation, she had made her decision and she was going to follow through with it. It was time to put that part of her life behind her, but she needed his help to close the lid on it for good. 

The door in front of her slid open with a muted hiss, and she adjusted the baby on her hip as she raised her eyes from the floor. Her gaze traveled the length of him, from toes to head and she couldn’t help the snort that escaped her nose.

“What the _hell_ are you wearing?” she laughed. 


	5. Faith and Trust

“What the _hell_ are you wearing?”

Cara raked her eyes over him twice, just for good measure. He stood in the doorway, feet bare, a pair of skin tight hose clinging to his legs, which she assumed he must wear under his normal pants to keep his armor from chaffing his thighs or something - because she couldn’t think of any other logical reason for him to own such apparel. His chest was bare; an oversized, blindingly white robe with fur trim hung loose on his shoulders, its sleeves dangling to his fingertips. His helmet was atop his head, of course, but without armor or anything around his neck, it gave the impression of being too big, as if he were an animated character in a kid’s holoshow with exaggerated features. 

“I forgot to repack my bag after our last mission,” he explained, retreating back into the bedroom. 

“Ah, and you didn’t want to parade your soggy ass past Riddick to go grab your spare clothes from the _Razor Crest_? You should have, not knowing the story behind that scene would have kept him up all night. He _hates_ not knowing details.”

“Yeah, I got that impression by myself,” he said, disdain evident in his tone.

“It’s one of the things I like the most about you,” she offered. “You don’t press people for things they don’t want to share.”

 _Which is ironic, because I’m about to dump a metric ton of information on you that you didn’t ask for,_ she mused.

Aloud, she asked, “Do you want me to go back up and get your clothes for you?”

“No, it’s fine - mine will be dry by morning.”

“Did you pack any extra clothes for him, at least?” she asked, as she lay the bundled baby down on the bed.

“Side pocket of my pack,” he gestured to where it lay in a corner, looking as if he had thrown it there from across the room.

Cara smiled to herself as she unzipped the pocket and extracted small undergarments and a tiny tunic. O _f course Daddy has a spare outfit in his pack for baby boy._ She rifled around a bit more and found some dried meat wrapped in brown paper and a little rubbery toy for chewing on. She dressed Bean and gave him the toy to gnaw on. Remembering that she wanted to get her own clothes cleaned before tomorrow, she headed for the door.

“I’m gonna see if that droid will wash my clothes - do you want yours to be cleaned too, or did they get clean enough in the bath?”

“They’re clean,” he said, his voice clipped.

Shrugging, she went back out into the hall and started looking for the droid. She found it around the corner, wiping down the glasses they had used earlier and stacking them behind the bar. The droid was was a typical home-helper model - its upper body much resembling a protocol droid, but its lower half was barrel-shaped and set close to the ground - presumably to perform some sort of floor cleaning function. 

“Excuse me, would you be able to do me a favor?” Cara asked.

“Of course, Miss Dune, I would be delighted to assist you in any way I can,” the droid replied in a polite, feminine voice.

“I’m short on clothing at the moment, and I was hoping I could leave some laundry with you to be cleaned overnight.”

“I can do that right away. Would you object to your clothing being laundered with some of Master Riddick’s garments?”

“That’s fine. I’ll get them for you. What’s your name again?”

“Oh, please excuse my rudeness, I am not used to speaking with strangers. My name is K8-4MS, but Master Riddick calls me Kate. You may too, if you wish.”

“Nice to meet you, Kate.”

The droid followed as Cara went back to her room, emerging with an armful of her clothes. She handed them to Kate, but plucked her torn shirt off the top and showed her the rent fabric.

“I don’t mean to pile more work on you, but do you think you could have that stitched back together for me, too?”

“Absolutely, Miss Cara. I am quite skilled at mending clothing, or so I am told. I will return it to you like new, in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Cara said, stifling a frown when she saw the droid’s master approaching them down the hall.

“Life on the run is rather hard on the wardrobe, I gather,” he quipped, as Kate retreated with Cara’s laundry.

“ _B_ _laster rifles_ are rather hard on the wardrobe, anyway,” she replied.

“Were you shot?” Brice asked, his voice colored by what seemed to be genuine concern.

“Just grazed - it’s healing up alright, though,” she shrugged, patting the bandage on her shoulder.

“I can take a look at it for you,” he offered, and something about the way he said it suggested that wasn’t all he wanted to take a look at.

“No thanks, Mando patched me up. It’s fine.”

“You and the bounty hunter seem - comfortable - with each other,” he said, pausing over the word for emphasis.

“We’ve been living together on a tiny ship for almost half a year,” her tone suggesting that was everything he needed to know.

“So it’s more than just a professional relationship,” he stated, rather than asked.

“Why the sudden curiosity over my love life?” she pushed back, trying not to sound irritated.

“Last time I saw you, _I_ was your love life,” he reminded her.

“Brice, let’s not kid ourselves. It was a dalliance for you and a rebound for me. We didn’t care about each other. It wasn’t like we were in a committed relationship and I’m sure you’ve had a slew of girls since. I honestly don’t even remember half of it.”

He stepped closer, and she could smell mint on his breath as if he had just rinsed his mouth out. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Unbelievable, he really did come down here to try and get it on with me tonight,_ she thought to herself.

“Cara,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice enticing as it ever was. “It may not have been a committed relationship, but make no mistake - I did care for you. I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I didn’t.”

She lifted her eyes to his and softened her expression, “If that’s true, I’m sorry if what I said hurt you. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you meant nothing to me. I was in a rough spot when we were together, and what we had...helped. But that was four years ago and I’m in a different place now than I was then. I do appreciate what you’re doing to help us out, though.”

He moved back half a step and offered her a genial smile, “You’re welcome, _Carasynthia_.”

She bared her teeth in mock anger and took a swat at his arm, “Don’t you dare call me that again, you arrogant bastard.”

He laughed - a rich, vibrant sound, “Okay, okay, don’t kick my ass - I’m going, I’m going. I’m just at the other end of the hall if you need anything.”

“See you in the morning, Brice.”

She didn’t wait for him to disappear before going back into Mando’s room, not caring what Brice thought of it. He emerged from the refresher unit a moment later, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing all over again at his absurd appearance. Skirting the bed toward him, she discovered two plates on his dresser, one scraped clean and the other piled high with a delicious looking spread of vegetables, seared meat, and fruit. 

“This for me?” she asked.

“Yeah, I found it outside your room when I left you earlier,” he said, sitting on the bed with the pillows propping him up, one leg dangling off the edge. 

“At least someone in this house respects a lady’s privacy,” she teased.

His shoulders hunched a little, as if her words had been meant as a blow.

“Hey, take it easy, it was a joke.”

She picked up the plate and sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed, opposite him. 

“I gotta say though,” she said around a mouthful of food, “You were right.”

“About what?” he asked, absentmindedly tying a complex knot in the sash at his waist.

She pointed her utensil at his bare chest, visible between the parted sides of his robe, “I finally found the ‘right method’ to motivate you to get undressed.”

His chin snapped up, “That’s _not_ funny.”

She chuckled, “Too soon?”

He shook his head at her, clenching his fists around the knot he had finished. Her smile faltered, and she stretched out one leg to nudge his foot. 

“C’mon, Mando...lighten up.”

He jerked the knot free and leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs, his hands going to the back of his neck to knead the tension from the muscles.

“I thought you were dead, Cara. I know you tease when things hit too close to home or get too personal, but I can’t get the sight of you in that bath out of my head...and _no_ , not like that.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she objected.

“You were thinking it.”

She scooted across the bed and leaned into the pillows next to him. Stretching her legs out in front of her and balancing the plate on her thighs, she picked at its contents - appetite waning. Bean toddled across the mattress and plopped down beside her, reaching for a piece of meat. She tore a small chunk off and handed it to him.

“You’re right,” she admitted, softly. “I do joke when it gets too personal. It’s easier than letting myself feel it, you know?”

He leaned back once more; so close, his shoulder brushed against hers, “I know.”

“It’s not an excuse though - I need to deal with stuff instead of brushing it off. That’s actually one of the things I wanted to talk to you about tonight.”

He turned his head slightly toward her, “Talk to me about what?”

She sighed and tipped her head back, resting her neck against the pillows, her food forgotten. He reached toward her lap and picked off another morsel for the baby to chew on, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“There’s more to the story than what I told Riddick,” she began.

“You don’t have to tell me more than what you were already forced to,” he said.

“I know that. But I want to tell you. I _need_ to tell you. I want it out, all of it - because I’ve never told anyone else and I just can’t keep it locked inside anymore. If one good thing came out of all this, it’s that it showed me there was a lot I haven’t really dealt with. And I should.”

“When you’re ready,” he prompted.

She gave him a nervous laugh, “I honestly don’t know where to start, though.”

“The beginning is usually a good place.”

“Well, you see, when my dad met my mom --”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Shit. I am, aren’t I? I guess I should start when I joined the troopers...or maybe a bit further back. I told you the Empire destroyed my home when I was twenty-four, right?” she asked, shifting her gaze to what she could see of his profile.

At his nod, she continued, “But I never told you where I was from. I was born on Alderaan.”

He looked down at her, and although she could not see his expression, she could feel the pity radiating off him. She hated pity. It tasted like ashes in her mouth. Or maybe that was just the memories. She continued.

“I was in my sixth year of university, nearly ready to graduate. A small group of my classmates and I were on a week-long trip to Coruscant to tour the Senate District and conduct interviews. We were gathering research for an article we were doing on the decline of the Senate - ironically the very week that the Emperor dissolved the council. I was eating lunch at a restaurant when the holovid started broadcasting the Death Star’s destruction of our homeworld. I remember the girl next to me puking up everything she had just eaten - but I just shut down. My family, my friends, my pets, my home, my planet - everyone I loved and everything that belonged to me, except for what I had in my pack, was just...gone. Erased.”

“Did you know anyone offworld?” he asked when the silence stretched out between them.

“No. Just the students from university - but I wasn’t particularly close to any of them. I was very competitive in my field, and it sometimes got in the way of making friends.”

“What did you study?”

She chuckled a little, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you."

“Try me,” he countered.

“Galactic History, with an emphasis on intercultural conflicts.”

“So you studied ancient wars? That’s not exactly surprising.”

“Maybe not, but you have to remember, most Alderaanians prided themselves on being pacifists. My people valued arts, education, history, politics, negotiation, and peace through demilitarization. We had no weapons, offensive or defensive. I was studying conflicts and what triggered them, in an effort to help prevent them from happening anywhere else across the galaxy. My parents always taught my brothers and I that bloodshed was _never_ a path to peace. 

But after I saw what the Empire was capable of, I saw things differently. I never really grieved them properly, because there was nothing to grieve. No bodies. No burial. No closure. They were all dead, and the people who murdered them were ruling the galaxy. There was nothing to stop them from doing it to others - wiping out entire planets and just swallowing cultures whole. So, first chance I got, I joined the Rebellion. 

I put 110% into everything they put me on, so it wasn’t even a year before they moved me to an advanced training program. I joined the shock troopers a while later - and for the next four years, that was my life. My team was the only family I had. We were tight. Our units didn’t rotate like other military forces. Our members were replaced if they were killed, but other than that, we stayed with the same people every mission. There were eight on my team. In the beginning, it was five men and three women, but we lost the other two girls pretty early on. Keeve and Drex replaced them. Until I left, we only lost one other - so most of us had been together for about four years. 

My guys were really good about not treating me differently just because I was the only woman. They trusted my skills. Each of us had strengths and weaknesses, but we knew what they were and compensated for each other. They treated me exactly the same as they treated each other. They didn’t coddle me, they didn’t act all modest in front of me, they didn’t spare me any of their off-color jokes...can you tell?”

He snorted, “Not at all.”

“It was like I wasn’t even a woman at all in their eyes. And I liked that. I did.”

Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip as she tried to find the words to adequately explain the contradictory emotions she was struggling with.

“But Keeve was different. He was more of an idealist - like I was when I was younger. I mean, I was in it for revenge, but I also wanted to see people free so they didn’t have to lose everything, like I did. They all knew my story, but Keeve understood better than most. Sometimes we had missions that didn’t go as planned. Maybe there was collateral damage or we didn’t meet all our objectives and someone suffered for it. Keeve knew things like that were rough for me, and he felt the same way. You do the job long enough, you see stuff...you get numb to a lot of shit. Most of the guys just stuffed their feelings or straight up _stopped_ feeling. 

We didn’t. We used to talk to each other when the others weren’t around. We’d talk about the things we couldn’t talk about in front of them; lots of things, not just the missions. I’ll never forget the one night he said to me that it was okay to be a woman sometimes. At first I got mad - like being a woman wasn’t what made me have a conscience. He was a man and he felt the same way. But he wasn’t just talking about that. He told me, ‘The whole team knows you’re a badass, Cara. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be feminine sometimes too.’ I knew he was right, but I was worried if I let that side of myself show in front of the others, they would start treating me differently. But he kept encouraging me, and I started letting myself be...myself. I was never a girly girl, even on Alderaan - having five brothers didn’t help. But I never wanted people to see me as a man, either. So I started to let my hair grow out a bit longer. I got the little rebel tattoo on my cheek. Stuff like that.”

She suddenly giggled as a sweet memory rose up to the surface, “There was this one time - he was in my room with me on some base. We were playing cards and drinking, the others were all out chasing local tail. He stumbled on this bottle of nail lacquer I had in my stuff. I hadn’t worn anything like that in years, but I had gotten in on an impulse because I really liked the color. He asked why I hadn’t worn it and was like ‘no way I’m actually gonna put that on my fingers; the guys would never let me live it down’. So he talked me into putting it on my toes instead, because we rarely had our boots off, anyway. I finally gave in and took off my shoes and socks and started trying to put this stuff on, right? Mando, let me tell you, I am shit at anything artistic; and I mean _anything_. All my old friends used to make fun of me for it. So I’m getting this sparkly green paint all over the place - my toes, the floor...it was a mess. So Keeve finally just rips the bottle out of my hand, grabs my stinky foot, puts it on his knee and starts painting my fragging toes! We laughed until we cried that night. I guess you’d have to be there for it to be funny…”

“No, I enjoy hearing your stories like this,” he replied, and there was a warmth in his voice that suggested he was smiling under that helmet. 

“Well, savor it now, because this story is about to go from ‘ha-ha’ to ‘boo-hoo’ real quick. I’m just warning you.

Obviously, Keeve and I were really close. I had been so focused my revenge, and being the best soldier I could be - I never took the time to have any relationships in my life - I mean, you know - ‘romantic relationships’,” she clarified, making air quotes with her fingers.

“And after a while, I began to feel differently about him than I did about the other guys on my team. I was determined that I was _never_ going to tell him that, because I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But one night, after I had way too much to drink, I decided I was gonna do just that. 

Just so you know the context of this, we had already been assigned to Batiri for three months at this point. We were allowed three week’s leave on a colony. Gristoria and Markel had to go visit the capital and were assigned a different security detail. Anyway, it took me an hour to find Keeve, and when I finally did, he wasn’t alone. I saw him hugging a mechanic who had been assigned to our drop ship...and then he kissed him...on the mouth. It was just a peck, but there was no mistaking what it meant. He was a nice guy - I think his name was Jem or Jet or...I forget. We hadn’t seen him in a while. I found out later Keeve was breaking things off with him because he had met someone else on assignment, and it was getting serious.”

She paused, wondering if he would put it together.

“Markel?” he asked.

She sighed, “Yep. You know - looking back, all the signs were there. He never went out with the other guys to pick up chics. He rarely cracked an off-color joke about a woman. He was best friends with the only female on the team. He was always encouraging me to be myself even if that meant being different from them. He _painted_ my toenails for crying out loud. I had just been totally blind to it. He had never said anything, and we hadn’t talked about that kind of stuff before, at least - not with specifics. But at the time, I was frustrated and I was hurt and I was drunk. So naturally, I went to the bar and got more drunk. Any guesses who I met that night?”

“I don’t want to,” he said, but his tone suggested he already knew.

“Riddick. He could charm sober women out of their better judgment, so I was an even easier target. I found out later he collected girls like pod-racers collect trophies, but whatever. I just wanted to feel like a woman and he was my ticket. I never loved him; I didn’t even like him. It meant nothing to either of us.”

Cara realized she was probably putting too much effort into downplaying her relationship with Riddick, it wasn’t like Mando really cared one way or the other. But he had returned to fiddling with his sash again and offered no comment when she paused - so she rushed ahead with her story as if nothing had happened.

“Keeve found out a few days later and asked me what the hell I was doing with a guy like Brice...and I asked him if he wanted dibs. It was awful of me, but I was still hurt because, despite everything, I still loved him. But I never told him that. That’s when he explained about the mechanic and told me about Markel. He told me everything that Markel had told him about his plans to make Batiri a better place once he inherited his father’s title. We started laying the groundwork for our plan to...hurry along the process. At the end of leave, when we went back to Batiri, that mission was all we were focused on. We were the only two who knew about it; Keeve didn’t want to tell Markel because he didn’t want it to drive a wedge between them later. Markel hated what his father had become, but I don't think he would have approved of us letting him die either. One week after we got back, it all went down - you know the rest. Except the last thing...” 

Cara tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. She still lay back on the pillows, her gaze raised to the ceiling as she followed the patterns brushed into the plaster. Her vision blurred when tears pooled over her eyes, spilling freely down her cheeks to collect in her ears and hairline. She took a few shallow breaths as she forced the final words of her story past her lips. It had only been meant for her ears, but someone else beside her needed to know what kind of man Keeve was...what he had meant to her.

“The last thing Keeve said to me before he died was, ’I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you loved me’.

He knew all along. He was lying there like that; the rest of his body was just...gone. I was trying to hold him together - and that was what went through his mind. He had just given his life to save someone he actually loved, but his last words were about me and him. I didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve him.”

A sob tore from her throat and she covered her face with her hands. Embarrassment pricked her conscious, but it was drowned out by waves of grief washing over her. She felt the weight of the forgotten dinner plate being lifted from her lap. She rolled away from him, her injured shoulder protesting weakly. She drew her knees up and covered her mouth, trying desperately not to break down further. This had not been what she wanted. She needed to talk about it, not start bawling in front of him like this. 

A small hand touched her arm, little claws grasping at her skin. Blinded by tears, she opened her arms to the child and clutched him to her, feeling a rush of warmth when he pressed his face against her neck. After a moment, she felt the weight of Mando’s arm wrapping around both of them, his hand resting atop hers where it was cupped against the baby’s head. The chin of his helmet brushed the back of her hair as he drew close behind her, every contour of his body pressed against hers. At any other time, she would have felt exhilarated by the contact, but in this moment, there was no space for such sensations. 

“You have to let yourself feel it, if you want to move forward,” he said in her ear, and she had never heard his voice so gentle. 

“It’s okay to mourn him. It’s okay to mourn your parents and your brothers. It’s okay to mourn the other teammates you lost. It’s okay to mourn your friends and Alderaan. Just...let it out," he said, his words carrying the wisdom of one who had lived through the same pain.

She did as he suggested. She wasn’t sure how long she wept, but it felt like hours. She forced herself to recall every face, every name, every last moment with the people she loved. She looked her grief square in the face and she didn’t run from it or lock it away. She held her arms open to it and embraced it. When her eyes had long since shed their last tears, she drew out the good memories of her life, polishing them and setting them on the mantle of her heart’s home. They were treasures, and she would no longer let pain or anger or coldness keep her from taking joy in them. Nothing could take them from her. Her family, her friends, Keeve...they were _alive_ inside her, and she would honor them by living each day of her life to the fullest, for them. It’s what they would have wanted.

* * *

She woke up to the feeling of movement beside her in the bed. She had not even realized she had dozed off. The lights were off, and Bean was no longer in her arms. Somewhere along the way, she had sunk down in between the cushions, and now her head was pillowed on her arm, flat on the mattress. She slowly rolled onto her back, stretching her shoulders, arms, and legs. She tipped her head from side to side, her stiff neck cracking with a series of satisfying pops. She could hear Mando breathing from where he lay next to her, the warmth of his body felt, even though they weren’t quite touching.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” he replied, his pitch matching hers. “You needed that.”

“Yeah, but - I didn’t mean for it to all come out like that...or to fall asleep afterward.”

“It’s fine.”

“Where’s the kiddo?”

“He fell asleep too, so I wrapped him up and put him in his box.”

She chuckled softly, “You gotta stop calling it that - you make it sound like you’re crate-training a pet.”

“At this point, I’m fairly certain that 90% of parenting _is_ like crate-training a pet.”

She playfully backhanded at his arm, earning her an amused grunt when she hit his ribs instead. He was leaning on the pillows again, further up the bed than she had realized. She sat up, suddenly acutely aware that it was the middle of the night and they were occupying the same bed for the second time in as many days. 

“I should probably go to my room now,” she said, cringing at the reluctance in her voice. 

When he didn’t respond, she began to swing her legs to the other side of the bed. 

“Just imagine how pissed he’d be if you stayed here,” he said under his breath, as if to himself.

She cocked her head to the side, positive she had heard him wrong, “What?”

“What?”

She leaned back toward him, one arm propping her up, “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Feeling bold, Cara crawled across the mattress to sit beside him again, tucking her legs back against her bottom. She reached her left arm over his lap and braced it on the mattress, leaning her body across him and cocking her head to one side. He had nowhere to look but directly at her. She knew he could see her perfectly fine in the darkness through his visor, even if she could barely make out his features.

“What. Did. You. Just. Say?” she demanded, making a sentence of each word.

“You heard me,” he growled.

“Why do you care what he thinks?”

“Because I can’t beat the frag out of him for what he did to you today - for the sake of his own fragging ego - because we need his fragging report. This would be the next best thing.”

“Language, sweetheart. But I’m touched. Is that the _only_ reason you want me to stay?” she asked, trying to make her tone sound seductive instead of desperate.

“Cara…” his voice was strained; almost husky.

“Yes, Mando?” she leaned closer, until her forehead came to rest against the cool steel of his helmet, a stark contrast to the heat crawling beneath her skin.

“Din,” he rasped.

She blinked, her eyebrows drawn in confusion, “Is that ‘no’ in Mandalorian?”

“It’s my name. Din. Din Djarin.”

She sucked in a breath and sat back, searching his featureless mask in the darkness - for what, she did not know. 

“Din,” she said slowly, trying it out. 

She liked it. Simple, understated, but strong and masculine at the same time. Something had just changed in the air between them, and she felt pulled to him like an electromagnet. 

“Din?” she began, but couldn’t find the courage to complete the sentence.

Instead, she decided to let her fingers finish the unspoken question. Her weight was still mostly on her left hand as she leaned across him, so she reached out with her right and touched his chest, where the sides of his robe had fallen open. His skin was smooth and warm, his muscles rigid beneath her palm. She could feel his heart knocking against his rib cage, his chest rising and falling faster than usual. She leaned forward again, this time pressing her lips to the forehead of his helm.

His fingers brushed against her knee, then his hand ran up the length of her thigh to settle on the curve of her hip, his thumb rubbing the top edge of the bone. His other hand reached for her hair, and she delighted in the realization that he was fond of tangling his fingers in her thick mane. Her breath hitched and she let her hand explore under the edge of the robe. Her forehead was resting against his again, and she briefly wondered if her nose was smooshed against the transparent section of his visor. Not really caring, she continued her exploration of the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, enjoying the way his body responded to her touch with starts and quivers. She discovered a nipple and ran her thumb over it a few times before giving it a soft pinch.

He sucked in a breath, and suddenly she was in motion. He cupped the back of her neck and lower hip, his fingers gripping the curve of her bottom. Maintaining the contact between their heads, he pushed upright, then used the leverage of his arms to lower her back into the pillows. 

Cara felt a surge of elation. _He feels the same way - he wants me,_ the lovesick young woman inside triumphed. She reached her arms to his neck as he hovered over her. But before she could touch him, his hands left her body and he sat back. Her stomach bottomed out and she felt the excitement of the past moment bleed out of her, replaced with the crushing weight of rejection. She had been mistaken. She misunderstood what he had meant. And now, she had most likely ruined the easy trust between them - maybe even their whole relationship. He was still close to her, his chin tucked against his chest and his hands fisted in the robe where it covered his knees. 

“You don’t want to…?” she stopped, wincing at how small and fragile her voice sounded, and beginning to feel angry for letting herself be so weak and needy in front of him. 

This wasn’t her. 

Then he was touching her again, and she felt a tremulous prick of hope at the tenderness of it. She was so confused by his behavior - she didn’t understand what it was he wanted. She resolved to keep herself in check and allow him to explain himself. She allowed herself to be soothed as he cupped her cheek, the rough pads of his thumb brushing against her temple. 

“I do want this,” he said, his voice no less strained than before. “But…”

He paused, and it felt as if her whole future was hanging on his next words.

“Not like this. Not after everything you just went through tonight. You just cried in my bed for three hours -”

“So you think that I’m coming on to you just because I’m emotionally distraught?” she asked, failing to keep irritation out of her tone.

“No. No, I know you don’t want this because you’re emotional. But Cara - this is exactly how it happened before, with Riddick. You were upset about Keeve and he took advantage of your pain and your desire to feel comfort. I’m not going to do that to you.”

She almost contradicted him by reminding him it was as much her decision to sleep with Brice as his - he wasn’t just taking advantage of her. Now was not the time to make that point, though.

“But this isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you,” she said, instead.

“Do you think it’s the first time I’ve wanted you?” he asked.

“How would I know?”

“It’s not,” he said flatly. “I’ve thought about you and I...together. But we aren’t ready for this yet.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“You aren’t ready either.”

“The hell I’m not.”

“What does this mean to you? What do _I_ mean to you? Are you okay with just having a quick shag here and now - in _Riddick’s_ house - without even seeing my face?”

“I --” she paused, looking beyond her tumultuous emotions and began to hear what he was saying. “You want it to be more...special than this?”

“I want it to be more _permanent_ than this. In my Tribe - this helmet can only come off for my family - my wife and my children. I just told you my name five minutes ago. Cara, listen...I do want you,” he assured, as he lowered his body beside her and drew her into his arms, tucking her face against his chest.

“I care about you too much to accept what you’re offering before I’m ready to offer you all of me in return - and to know that you truly _want_ all that comes with this life.”

“So, what you’re saying is...if I want in your pants, I gotta be Cara Djarin first?”

“I know how it sounds…”

“It sounds like you’re a man of honor. It sounds like I don’t deserve you, either.”

“Don’t do that. You think I deserve to find happiness, after all the things I’ve done? You don’t know me like you think you do. But you will. All of it. And when you do, you can decide for yourself if I’m really want you want.”

He rubbed his hand up and down the length of her back, kneading the tension out of her muscles, “But just for tonight, will you let me hold you like this?”

“No objections,” she smiled, wrapped her free arm around him and nuzzling her face against his chest. “Wait, one objection. Can you take this thing off? The fur is itching my face.”

He sat up and shrugged out of the robe, then pulled the bedclothes back so they could snuggle beneath the blankets. As he lay on his side adjusting the pillows around them, Cara felt guilty that he had to sleep another night with the helmet on, but she didn’t tempt him to remove it before he was ready. Returning to her place against him, she stretched herself along his body, relishing the sensations of every place their bodies touched. She threw her knee over his, though she was conscientious of avoiding particular areas as she found a comfortable position for her legs. His ridiculous, skin-tight pants were swiftly becoming her favorite article of clothing, she mused as she rubbed her foot against the smooth material covering his shin.

“Cara?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t rape me in my sleep, okay?” 

“No promises,” she giggled, though she had already resolved not to tempt him further.

“Please, it’s taking _everything_ I have to just hold you and nothing else,” and his voice was so strained, she felt compelled to reassure him.

“I promise I won’t try to seduce you again. We can go slow. Just do _me_ a favor, Din…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t keep me waiting forever,” she warned, giving the hollow above his collarbone a light kiss. 

“I won’t.”

There was a solemn vow in the way he said it, and Cara felt a sense of security that she hadn’t known since she was a child. He loved her. He turned down a chance to have sex with her because he wanted to save that intimacy for her as his wife. The full weight of what he had told her finally hit her. The helmet only came off for his wife, and he wanted to get to that point with her. He wanted to reveal everything about himself that she didn’t know yet. It began with his name, but it didn’t end there. There were stories to be told, as she had told him. He had said that he wanted to wait until she knew if she wanted everything that came with this life - meaning the Way. He was going to reveal the mysteries of the Mandalorian creed he lived by. He was going to open up his world to her and she was going to have to decide if what she felt for him was worth becoming a part of that Way herself. Not long ago, the idea of becoming part of something like that would have made her scoff, but she had a compelling reason to take another look at it. 

No, that wasn’t right. She had _two_ compelling reasons to take another look at it, as her thoughts strayed to the third occupant of the room. _Shit, I totally forgot about him earlier. I was ready to jump Din’s bones with the fragging kid just dozing in the box six feet away._ Though, she did take a moment to congratulate herself for making Din forget about the baby for a few minutes too. Pushing aside the thoughts that threatened to keep her awake all night, she focused on the feelings of warmth, comfort, and belonging that enveloped her as securely as Din’s arms.

There were only a few hours left to be had of the night before them; but Cara spent them in deep slumber, the sound of his heartbeat a constant lullaby.

* * *

Morning came all too soon, and though Cara had gotten quite a few hours of sleep when added up, the emotions of last night coupled with the three hours she had spent crying, had left her feeling weary and spent. Still, it felt good to wake up in Din’s arms. He had turned over onto his back at some point during the night and she now lay pressed to his side, her arm slung over his ribs. 

“You awake?” he asked.

“Yeah. Have you been up for a while?” she asked.

He gave her a rueful chuckle, “I never slept.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her head off his chest. “Why? Is it because of the helmet? I’m sorry, this is the second night in a row you’ve had to sleep with it on because of me-”

“It’s not the helmet, I’m used to sleeping with it on. I was just going over everything in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

She stilled, “Do you regret what you said?”

He turned to her, reaching across himself to touch her cheek, “No. I do not.”

She offered him her most dazzling smile, and his fingers traced the groove in her cheek.

“I like these,” he said.

“What? My dimples?” she asked.

“Mmhmm. They only come out when you smile like that.”

She reached up and touched the back of his hand, turning her face into his palm and kissing it. He made a sound she had never heard him utter before - almost a whimper, but it gave the impression he was pleased. She understood. He was starved for touch. He had lived his entire adult life with his body completely covered - never baring any of himself to others. The only contact he received was through his clothing or armor, and usually that interaction came in the form of violence, not affection. Every time her skin connected with his, it probably left him feeling hyper aware. Most likely, that was partially responsible for him being unable to sleep last night. 

She didn’t want him to become desensitized to her touch, but she did want him to become accustomed to it. She resolved to make a concerted effort to touch him in small ways every day - not to torment him or seduce him - but to give him the positive interactions he craved. Bean could help a lot with that too. His touch didn’t have all the tantalizing side effects that hers did, so skin-on-skin contact with the baby would be even more therapeutic, to both of them. She stretched her neck a bit to peer over the side of the bed to where his basket lay.

“Where’s Bean?” she asked.

“I think he crawled under the bed,” Din replied. “He got up a while ago and tried to climb up the bed spread. He couldn’t quite make it, and I heard him scuffling around under there a while ago. He’s been kind of quiet for the last ten minutes though.”

“That can’t be good. When babies get quiet - they are _always_ up to something they shouldn’t be.”

Cara pushed up from the bed, disentangling herself from the covers, and smirked when Din gave a groan of protest. Winking at him, she crawled over to the edge of the bed and leaned her torso over the edge, using her legs as a counterweight. The bed was tall though, and she started to slide off before she was in position. Din threw a leg across her calves to anchor her and she stopped sliding. Upside-down, she pulled the bedskirt up and peered under. She could just make out the tiny alien up near the head of the bed, something that looked suspiciously like wires dangling from his hands. 

“Whatcha got there, Bean?” she asked. “C’mon, cough it up.”

When he gave no indication of obeying her, she put some steel in her voice, “Come out and show me what you have.”

His ears drooped and he started crawling to her, the mysterious object still in his tiny claws.

“Good ‘mom’ voice,” Din commented. 

She raised one arm up over the edge of the bed by her hip to give him an obscene gesture with her fingers, earning her a real laugh, albeit a short one. Once extracted from underneath the bed, she leveraged herself and the child back up onto the mattress. Din took the object out of his hand and examined it. It was a small metal disk, slightly concave, with two wires poking from the sides - one to power the device and another to relay a signal. It was some sort of audio surveillance. 

“He bugged his own house?” Din seethed, and she could see color bloom around his throat as his blood got up.

“He _is_ in the intelligence business - what did you expect?” she replied.

“He was listening to us the entire night, Cara. Every word we said.”

He was off the bed before she had time to react, and halfway to the door before she caught him. Naked, except for the helmet and the skinny bottoms, she didn’t really have many options for what to grab. So when his arm slipped through her grasp, she caught the waistline of the pants. His momentum caused the material to stretch much further than she would have thought possible, revealing about half of his bare ass before she let go and it snapped against his waist with an audible crack. 

“Stop!” she demanded, and he did.

Rounding on her, he fumed, “What?!”

“First of all, you cannot beat the shit out of man wearing that - you’ll never live it down. Second, he did not listen to _anything_ we said last night because I turned on the short range jammers when I got our clothes from the _Razor Crest_.”

“You...jammed him? But he would know as soon as he tried to make an outgoing communication, which he had to do to compile his report - unless he had all the intel on his personal datapad.”

“I calibrated it to only jamm signals in the lower frequencies. Holocommunications and data transfers can take place with just a bit of interference, but little listening devices like these operate of super low frequencies - so they are rendered useless. I got the idea from the Mandalorian who jammed our comms back on Lariva VII.”

He regarded her for a long moment, his head cocked slightly to the side. Then his fists clenched again, and he bit out, “It doesn’t change the fact that he _tried_ to spy on us.”

“If they were even activated, yes. But it doesn’t matter. I expected it, and frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t. I told you I didn’t entirely trust him, but you were the one who decided we should stay in his house last night, instead of on the ship like we planned. So I took precautions.”

She closed the distance between them and slid her arms around his waist, locking her hands behind his back, “What would you do without me?”

He shook his head slowly and the tension went out of his shoulders, “Something stupid.”

She grinned and hooked her thumb into the top of his waistband, snapping it again, “You’re welcome.”

“You need to stop that.”

“What? This?” she asked innocently, plucking at the stretchy material again.

His hands went around her and snaked up the back of her shirt, trailing hot fire everywhere his fingers touched...until they located the band of her bra and gave it a good snap, “Yes, that.”

She laughed and gave his buns a swat before dancing away from him.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warned is a husky voice, and Cara had the wicked thought she might actually enjoy being spanked by him.

She flopped on the bed in front of Bean, making a show of tickling his belly, even though she was trying to offer an easy target to her riled partner.

“I gotta piss,” he announced, rather uncharacteristically. 

“You might want to wait a few minutes, unless you plan on standing on your head to take a leak,” she called after him.

“Funny.”

“Hey, speaking of your junk --”

“Which we were not speaking of - at all,” he interjected from the other room.

“Well, I was. Anyway, when I had that fight with the other Mando, I discovered he had a piece of armor covering his goodies -”

“It’s called a codpiece.”

“Sure. Anyway - do you have one?”

“No, why?”

“You should get one.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“Listen, all I’m saying is, it’s my job to help look after you. And I think it would be in your best interest to invest in some armor that protects your manparts.”

“A codpiece.”

“Yeah, I’m not calling it that.”

“But that’s what it is.”

“It’s a stupid name. We can find something a lot more interesting to call it.”

“Codpiece, Cara. Cod. Piece.”

“Cawww,” Bean cooed.

“Kriffing hell! The baby just said his first word!”

“Language!”

“I’m sorry! But he just said ‘codpiece’! Well, the first two sounds of it, anyway - but he was trying.”

“He said Caw?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know he wasn’t trying to say your name?”

“Because you were --” her voice trailed off as the possibility occurred to her that Din might be right. 

“Did you just try to say my name, kid?” she asked, running her finger along the velvety soft skin on the underside of his ear. 

“Caww,” the baby repeated.

“Caaaa-raaa,” she sounded out for him.

“Caw,” he babbled.

“Caaaaaraaaa.”

“Cawwwwaa,” he repeated with a mighty effort, laughing when she grabbed him and tossed him into the air.

Din emerged from the refresher unit with his normal clothing on, affixing the last few pieces of his armor to their electromagnetic pads. 

“He said it! He said my name,” she exclaimed, lifting the baby up over her head and twirling him, which made him laugh even harder.

“Did he?” Din asked. “Let’s hear it, kid. Say ‘Cara’.”

“Caaawwwaaa,” the baby repeated, obviously proud of himself.

“About time,” Din said.

“What do you mean, ‘about time’?” Cara asked, settling him on her hip and turning to Din.

“I’ve been trying to get him to say it for weeks, ever since I realized he could more or less make the sounds when he was babbling to himself,” he admitted, magnetizing the cuisse to his left thigh. 

She stared at him, “Why?”

“I thought it would make you happy,” he said, simply.

“Cawa,” the baby said again, leaning his head on her chest.

She flushed, looking down at the fuzzy little head nestled against her. A feeling so deep and so wide filled her chest, she took a deep breath to try and contain it before it burst her heart. She lifted him up until his face was against her shoulder and kissed him tenderly, resting her cheek on his head. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent that was uniquely his - it was clean and earthy, with a hint of brine. There were no oceans on Alderaan, but his smell reminded her of the sand on the shores of the salt lake where her family used to spend holidays in the summer. She rubbed her nose against his fuzzy head and risked a glance at Din. His attention was fixed on them. When he noticed her eyes raised to his face, he drew near, reaching up to give the baby’s back a rub. 

“It does,” she sighed. “...make me happy, I mean. I guess, maybe I do like babies - a little.”

“This one, anyway,” he added.

“Yeah, this one,” she agreed, giving him a little squeeze and then setting him down to explore. 

“I think I’m going to go see if Kate is finished with my clothes and get dressed for breakfast. Do you want me to bring food in here for you?”

“I’m not that hungry at the moment - but he might be. I don’t want to leave him alone, but I want to see what Riddick put together last night.”

“I’ll grab a plate for him then. You can feed him and baby proof the room - he shouldn’t be able to get into too much trouble in here. It’s not like he can reach the door panels. We will go over the report and then make our plans from there.”

“Okay.”

She turned to leave the room, but paused at the door to look over her shoulder, appraising him head to toe, “I kind of miss the skinny pants.”

“Get out.”

Laughing, she exited his room into the hallway. Her clothes were in front of her door, washed, mended, and folded neatly. She ducked inside the room to change and pack her belongings. A glance at the undisturbed bed left a smile on her face as she went about performing her morning ablutions, cleaning her face and teeth, and putting her hair to order. Once finished, she made her way into the living area, discovering Brice at the bar.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, his smile faltering when he got a good look at her face. “I would ask if you slept well, but your appearance suggests otherwise. You look like you were crying half the night.”

She gave him half a smile and shrugged, “Yesterday brought up some bad memories is all, but I’m fine now.”

He furrowed his brow, regarding her as she took a seat on the stool next to his, “You sure?”

She met his gaze, wishing him to see the truth in her reply, “I am. It’s a new day, and I’m finally feeling like things are starting to go right in my life.”

Riddick was good at reading people, and the softening of his features indicated his acceptance of her answer. He nodded to himself, as if he had seen something in her eyes that confirmed something else in his mind. 

“I’m happy for you,” he said, as if he was congratulating her on some achievement. “And I’m sorry if I contributed to your distress yesterday.”

“Don’t be - it just made me deal with things I was running away from. I should really be thanking you for being a self-serving asshole.”

He let out a bark of laughter, “Your gratitude is overwhelming. But there was an ulterior motive for my line of questioning yesterday - besides wanting to confirm Keeve’s involvement.”

“And what is that?” she asked, cautiously.

“I won’t reveal that unless it leads to the desired results,” was his cryptic reply. “Suffice it to say, my intentions were not _entirely_ ‘self-serving’, as you put it.”

“Fine, keep your secrets. Just promise me you won’t do anything to put the heat on me and Mando. We’ve had a hard enough time staying ahead of the bounty hunters Gideon keeps sending after us.”

“Is that how you received your injury?”

“Yeah, the day before yesterday I got caught between two of them working together, some lanky hunter with a spear and another Mandalorian.”

“Another Mandalorian?” he asked, curiosity piqued. 

“Yeah, they’re popping up everywhere now, I guess.”

“Did you notice any insignia on his armor to indicate his affiliation?”

“No, but we were brawling, so I didn’t have time to get a good look. His armor was sort of hodge podge, but his helmet was gray-green with dark red around the visor. It had a targeting rangefinder on the right side too.”

Brice lifted one eyebrow before leaning across the bar to retrieve his datapad. He tapped the screen for a moment, then turned it toward her, his thumb covering the top of the image.

“Did it look like that?”

“Yeah. That’s it exactly. I remember he had a dent on the left side of the forehead, just like that one,” she said, pointing out the fault. “And it was scratched up and worn in the same places.”

Riddick took a deep breath and removed his thumb from the top of the screen, revealing the name attributed to the file.

“No kriffing way,” she whispered. “He’s dead. He died on the mission to get General Solo back from Jabba the Hutt.”

“So we thought. But a few scattered reports have crossed my desk recently suggesting that he isn’t as dead as we thought. You need to tell your Mandalorian friend to come out here - we have a lot more to talk about.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I need to bring some breakfast to him first though.”

“Kate!” Brice called. 

The house-keeping droid appeared from behind the bar, “Yes, Master Riddick?”

“Would you prepare three breakfast plates, please?”

“Right away, sir,” she replied, disappearing into the kitchen once more.

“You said you brawled with this guy?”

“Yeah.”

“How did he seem to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What information could you gather from your encounter? How tall was he? Did he fight like a young man or an older man?”

“Um...he was close to my height - so 5 foot 8 or 9. He seemed to be a bit older, but a solid fighter. He was wasn’t as fast or as strong as my Man-- er, Mando. But he was better at avoiding hits. I didn’t give him a chance to use his armaments, but it almost seemed like he preferred fighting me without them anyway. I was about to get the upper hand on him when his friend showed up and shot me. They managed to track me back to the ship and even jammed my comm so I was cut off from Mando. The tall one was right on my heels when I got to the docking bay, but he didn’t follow me into the hangar, which was kind of surprising - because he probably could have shot me in the back before I got to the ship.”

“Was your Mandalorian waiting in the bay?”

Cara felt an odd thrill at someone beside herself referring to Din as “hers”, but nodded in acknowledgment, “Yeah.”

“Maybe they didn’t want him to be able to identify them,” he suggested.

“Maybe. But I could have just described them to him.”

“True, but not necessarily with enough detail for him to make the connection we have just made.”

Kate emerged with the plates of food balanced on her arms. Cara took one of them from her and rose to deliver it to Din’s room - pausing to thank the droid for her clothing. She trotted down the hall, nearly spilling the contents of the plate before she reached his door. She knocked, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for him to let her in. When the door slide open, he immediately cocked his head at the sight of her, recognizing the nervous energy in an instant.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I know who the Mandalorian was that I ran into the other day.”

“Who?”

“Just feed him and get out here - we need to talk.” 

“Are you coming in or going back?”

“I’m going to go back out there. Come as soon as you’re ready.”

He replied with an affirmative and she returned to the bar. While he was busy feeding Bean, she recounted every detail she could remember of the encounter on Lariva VII to Riddick. There wasn’t much more to tell, but by the time he had asked her all his questions, he had managed to tease more details out of her memory and paint as vivid a picture as was possible. Din rounded the corner of the hallway, striding toward the bar purposefully. He took the stool on the other side of her and leaned his left elbow on the bar to better view Riddick. 

“Tell me what you found out,” he demanded.

Cara pushed the datapad toward him, still displaying the image on the screen, “Do you know who that is?”

“Are you kidding? Every Mandalorian knows who that is.”

“Was he some sort of legend among your people?” Cara asked.

“Hardly. Boba Fett wasn’t a Mandalorian. He did not follow any Creed but his own. His name is not recorded in the archives on Mandalore, nor his father, Jango Fett. He has no family, no clan, and no place in our lore. He was a formidable bounty hunter in his own right, but ultimately, his claim to our culture by way of wearing the armor was an offense to true Mandalorians.”

“Interesting,” Riddick mused. “Tell me, are you aware of his true identity?”

“You mean his parentage?” Din repeated.

“Yes. Jango Fett was the human source from which the entire Clone Army was made. Boba was the first of his clones. Jango requested an unaltered clone as part of his fee.”

“I was told that once by an old," he paused, "Acquaintance. But I never heard it confirmed by another source. So he really was a clone."

“Jango was killed by a Jedi Master, Mace Windu. Are you familiar with the Jedi? Boba hated everything having to do with the Jedi and Galactic Republic because of it, so he made his living in service largely to the criminal underground like the Hutts for most of his career - though he wasn't a stranger to Imperial contracts either. Did you know him personally?”

“I saw him once in passing, but we never met. We usually worked for different clients and tended to take different jobs, so we had little cause to meet. In any case, it was in his best interest to avoid contact with true Mandalorians - his reputation was built on maintaining the facade that he was one of us. I began work as a bounty hunter toward the end of Fett's life...well, I guess he never died, after all. After the Purge, there weren't many true Mandalorians left to avoid, beside me.

To your earlier question, I don’t know much about Jedi: only that they were supposedly some sort of religious group who had mysterious powers.”

“You know more than a lot of others do. The Empire took its job of rewriting history very seriously. The Emperor had most people questioning the existence of an order of powerful beings that were at the apex of their power directly preceding the fall of the Galactic Republic. It is really quite intriguing. Tell me, Cara - do you still take an interest in history?”

“I don’t really have time for scholarly pursuits anymore, but yeah - I never stopped loving it.”

Riddick reached into a bag that was sitting on the chair beside him and pulled out a large data drive. Placing the rectangular object in her hand, he stated, “I believe you will find this illuminating. It’s the same galactic history files that you studied at university - restored to their unaltered versions using data taken from the Imperial archives.”

She held the drive in her hand, immediately recognizing the precious nature of such a gift. She suddenly wondered how much of her education had been incomplete, or just plain incorrect.

“Thank you,” she said, a genuine smile of gratitude on her lips.

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s table our discussion of Boba Fett and the Jedi Order so I can give you what you came for.

I compiled everything I had on Moff Gideon last night - and checked with some sources in NRI to see if we had anything new. It’s not as much as I would like; most of it old intel. 

Gideon was a member of the Imperial Security Bureau from the start of his career. Remember how I said he was obsessed with all things having to do with the Force - particularly the Dark Side of the Force that Sith, like Palpatine and Vader, used? Well, he figured that the only way he could get close to the Emperor was doing something truly noteworthy, like taking control of a region that was a particular thorn in the Emperor’s side.

Few places have given the galactic government - Republic and Imperial alike - more trouble than Mandalore. They maintained their independence for so long, that they became quite the powerful entity in their own right, and the symbol of cultural sovereignty the galaxy over. As I’m sure you’re both aware, centuries of civil wars left Mandalore mostly uninhabitable. The people were relegated to living in domed cities, just to survive. Indulge me while I give you an unaltered history refresher.

At the end of those devastating wars, Duchess Satine of House Kryze came to power and pioneered a new era of peace for the planet. But there were many who did not wish her to succeed; chief among them, the faction known as Death Watch, whom she had banished to the moon, Concordia. After an armed dispute between Satine Kryze’ pacifist government and Death Watch ended, a man known as Darth Maul seized control of the government for some time, murdering the Duchess Satine and defeating Pre Vizsla of Death Watch in noble combat. By law, the Mandalorians were compelled to accept his rule, though some broke off and resisted bending the knee to an outsider. 

What is not commonly known, is that Maul was a former Sith apprentice of Palpatine, who was not keen on his old apprentice having so much influence on a planet filled with warriors. Palpatine ousted his one-time protege, killed Maul’s brother, and dissolved the Shadow Collective that had been assembled as Maul's own little puppet government. Later, Maul returned to Mandalore in secret, with the help of Gar Saxon. Once again, Maul took control from the shadows. Bo-Katan Kryze, the Duchess Satine’s younger sister - and former member of Death Watch - plotted to have him overthrown. 

Her efforts to obtain outside aide resulted in the Jedi sending one apprentice by the name of Ahsoka Tano, and a battalion of Republic clone troopers to Mandalore to remove him - permanently. The ensuing Siege of Mandalore largely succeeded in this task - at the cost of many warriors resisting the Republic’s interference - but then Chancellor Palpatine became Emperor Palpatine. He enacted Order 66, a command for the Clone Troopers to turn on their Jedi allies and kill them. We believe that Jedi apprentice Tano was killed, though there have been conflicting reports about that. Maul escaped Mandalore, but that's not relevant to this discussion. Control of the planet was ceded to the Empire, and direct authority was handed to Gar Saxon, who was named Viceroy of Mandalore and regional Governor. In other words, he was merely a puppet on Palpatine’s strings.

Sixteen years later, there was another uprising. Bo-Katan was able to rally clans Wren, Vizsla, Rook, and Eldar, using a relic of their past - a black lightsaber supposedly forged by a Mandalorian Jedi eons ago. They killed Gar Saxon and continued to fight when his brother, Tiber, assumed his title. The might of the Empire was backing Clan Saxon, of course, but the allied clans led by Kryze were eventually victorious. Some of the details of that last battle remain classified, but it also resulted in the disappearance of one of Palpatine’s favorites, Grand Admiral Thrawn, who happened to be present at the incursion.

Enter, Gideon. At his request, Palpatine allowed him to take control of the sector, freeing himself up to pursue other matters - like his new space station. Gideon set out to bring Mandalore to heel, operating as marshal of that sector. He was given enough of a fleet to conduct an attack that spread across several systems simultaneously, though most of the outlier worlds, like Krownest only had a few strongholds.

He concentrated the bulk of his offensive on Mandalore, systematically began the task of razing every city to the ground. With so much of the world still uninhabitable, the people were clumped in tightly crowded cities. Gideon utterly destroyed nearly every living person on the planet. Those who survived fled, and those who were offworld at the time were unable to return home to their ruined world. The Empire strip-mined the planet for anything valuable, notably the beskar steel used in their legendary armor. Then they pumped enough dioxins into the atmosphere to render it uninhabitable for centuries. Gideon was promoted to Moff shortly thereafter, but he spent a large portion of the next five years off the grid. Whatever Palpatine had him working on, it was hush-hush.

Since the second Death Star was destroyed, the Imperial remnant disappeared. But Gideon apparently had a reason to stick around, even though he's been keeping a low enough profile that we haven't been able to locate him. But now, he’s crept out to target you two - or rather, the child you are harboring. How did you find out about Gideon's involvement in the first place?”

Cara shook herself visibly as she forced her mind to focus on the question. There was so much information that she had just been apprised of - some of it familiar, much of it not. She was surprised to learn how much the Jedi and Sith had been involved in the politics of the galaxy, particularly in regards to Mandalore. She was still trying to process and sort her thoughts, but she answered before Din.

“We overheard a communication between a bounty hunter and the client who originally tasked Mando with retrieving the child. The Imp mentioned the name Moff Gideon - saying that he was getting impatient about the recovery of the asset,” she explained.

“How long ago was this?”

”Eight weeks,” Din said. 

“We ended that guy’s career on the spot, but a month later, we had another one on our tails. He won’t give up until he has the kid,” Cara added.

“And now, he’s hired two hunters - including Boba Fett, or at least someone who has assumed his armor and his identity,” Riddick said, stroking his chin in thought. “The last known sighting of Gideon’s Star Destroyer was in the Kathol Sector, well off the main hyperspace lanes. It’s unlikely he’s still there, though. It seems to me, the only shot you have of getting out from under his thumb is drawing him out and letting us help you destroy him.”

“Why would you do that?” Cara asked. “You said yourself that he was keeping a low profile. Why would anyone commit resources to taking him out when the government has other problems?”

“Because Gideon is that last officer of the Imperial remnant we still have some tabs on. The rest of them have fled to the unknown regions after the stunt they pulled on Chandrila. If I could get solid intel on where he was - or where he was going to be - securing a few ships to mop up would not be a problem.”

“So you want us to hang our asses out there as bait to draw him out of the shadows? How are we supposed to do that when he keeps sending bounty hunters after us?” Cara asked.

“We’ll have to challenge him directly,” Din suggested. “We need to take these two bounty hunters alive; see if we can trace their communication logs so we can contact Gideon ourselves. Make it personal. If he was behind the Great Purge, maybe I can motivate him to come out of hiding myself...I’m a loose end he failed he tie up on Mandalore, and now I’ve got the thing he wants most in the galaxy.”

“Yeah, but what if we succeed? We’re not exactly a match for a Star Destroyer, Mando. And I don’t think he’s going to agree to meet us at a place of our choosing, so wherever we do meet - assuming we get that far - we’re going to need some damn good assurances we’re going to have solid backup.”

“Leave that to me,” Riddick said, his tone confidant. “If you can get a place and location for a meeting, I can certainly get you the support you need.”

“You have more trust in the New Republic than I do. After they demilitarized, they have to debate any military action in the Senate. They aren’t going to just have a few cruisers standing by to take down a low-profile Imp if and when a bounty hunter and ex-soldier get him out in the open.”

“Who said anything about the New Republic? I have connections outside of the...official channels.”

Cara quirked an eyebrow, “Connections with enough firepower to take out a Star Destroyer?”

“Most assuredly,” he countered her dubious tone.

“I don’t know about this,” Cara said, turning her attention to Din. 

He was sitting with his elbows on the bar, his fingers laced together and his chin resting on his raised thumbs beneath the lip of his helmet. He only ever did that when he was really thinking hard about something. She waited as he took a deep breath and raised his head, pushing back from the bar and sliding off the stool.

“It could work. I’m going to need a bit more info on these friends of yours, though. I know people too, and I want to make sure I haven’t had any negative dealings with whoever you’re sending to cover the _Razor Crest_. I’ll also need a secure way to communicate directly with you - something that can’t be easily traced. Those are my terms. If you want this kill, I’ll help you get it...but I need that much from you before I agree to anything.”

“Could I speak with you, alone?” Cara asked, eyeing Din warily.

He turned his body to the side, gesturing back toward the hallway. As she stepped past him, he instructed Riddick, “Think it over. We will be back shortly.”

She led him down the hall, passing his room in favor of hers. When the door slid shut behind them both, she wheeled on him, her eyes flashing. 

“What the hell was that?” she hissed. “He gives us some weak intel and a sketchy promise that he _knows_ some people who can take out a fragging Star Destroyer and you’re ready to commit us to this?”

“Not ‘us’ - me,” he replied, his voice low and even. “You’re right, it’s too risky to bait Gideon with all of us. But if I go alone, it’s worth the odds.”

“Absolutely not. You are _not_ going to do this alone. There is no way I’m going to let you.”

“Cara, think about it. If we brought the kid with us, we’d just be serving him up to Gideon if things go sideways.”

“We can leave him someplace safe.”

“I don’t trust anyone but you to keep him safe. If Riddick doesn’t come through, I can bail easily enough. But if it goes badly and I get captured, at least you two will be safe together.”

“Yeah, and then he’ll torture you for information and I’ll be the one trying to figure out how to get you out of there.”

“No, you will leave me there and lay low. Better that, than both of us being killed and the kid left with strangers.”

“No. No, I’m not okay with this--”

He stepped close and reached for the back of her neck, drawing her to him and pressing her face against his shoulder. His pauldron made for a less than comfortable place to rest her cheek, but the gesture was so intimate and unexpected, she did not protest. 

“Have some faith in me,” he gently chided. “I finally have everything I want right here, I’m not going to let some Imp take it all away from me.”

“So, this isn’t about revenge over what he did to Mandalore?”

“Not even a little. This is about us - you, me, and him - being free. Of course, I’m angry about what he did to my people; but I would still take the chance to end all of this, even if he had nothing to do with The Purge.”

She drew back enough to search his masked face for some kind of assurance that everything would turn out all right. She wasn’t naive - she knew he couldn’t give her any. And the fact that she was sick to her stomach over the possibility of losing him now, when they were finally beginning to draw close to each other, was equal parts terrifying and maddening. This was the price of tearing down the walls around her heart, she thought bitterly.

Still, she had to admit that he had a point. It wasn’t just about her and Din anymore - they had someone else to worry about. After this morning, there was no doubt in either of their minds that Cara’s feelings for the child ran deep. Her desire to protect him stemmed not from loyalty to Din, but from her own fierce love for him. If they all ventured into the rancor’s maw, it would be devastating for all of them. He wasn’t leaving her behind because he didn’t trust her or because he didn’t want her help - he was leaving her behind because she was the _only_ person he trusted enough to care for his son. _Our son,_ she dared to acknowledge...but only to herself.

This was her family, and she had to protect them. Nodding slowly, she reached up to guide his forehead to hers, closing her eyes in surrender.

“Alright. I do have faith in you. You better not make me regret it, or I swear I’m going to hunt you to the end of time, and when I find you --”

“I’ll make you forget you were ever mad at me,” he interrupted, and there was such an alluring promise in his gravelly tone, that left her stomach began coiling for entirely different reasons. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Din Djarin,” she warned. 

He chuckled, the sound no longer striking her as odd, the more he indulged the expression. She reluctantly stepped out of his embrace, compensating him with another dimpled smile. He regarded her a long moment, before brushing a strand of her hair away from her face.

“We should go back,” he said, sounding like he wanted to do anything but. 

“We should,” she agreed, holding her eyes to his face; as if she could will herself to see through his helmet if she just stared long enough.

Finally, he turned back to the door, slamming the keypad a little too hard to get it to open.

“I’m going to check on the kid,” he growled.

“Okay, I’ll see if Riddick has made his decision,” she tossed over her shoulder as she continued past him.

Back at the bar, Riddick was nearly finished eating his breakfast. Stomach growling, Cara realized she had not eaten a bite from her plate herself. After not finishing dinner last night, her guts were beginning to voice their protest. Picking a small, round fruit from a cluster on her plate, she popped it in her mouth and fixed her attention on Brice.

She swallowed, narrowing her eyes at him, “These friends of yours better be trustworthy, because if anything happens to him...”

“I know,” he replied, meeting her scrutiny. “I know you feel like you can’t trust me fully either, but Cara - I would never do anything to hurt you. I can see that you have something special with him, and after losing two families, on Alderaan and with the Rebellion, you deserve to have some happiness for a change. And if you don’t believe that - believe this: I stand to gain a lot from bringing down a moff. I can’t pass up the opportunity.”

“Yes, but if you go behind their backs, is the New Republic going to reward you for your efforts?”

“It’s not the New Republic I’m seeking to impress. There are other players out there, and we are all just trying to find our place in this brave new galaxy, free from the Empire’s suffocating grasp.”

“You’re not into anything criminal, are you?” she asked.

“Under New Republic laws, there are a lot of things that are criminal - kidnapping a Force sensitive child who doesn’t belong to you, for example. That doesn’t make it wrong. Whatever I do now, I do for the benefit of those who get swept aside by the powers that be.”

She laughed, “When did you become such an idealist?”

“Well, let’s just say this...you may have been too drunk to remember the weeks we spent together on that colony, but I remember just about every slurred speech you made about what was wrong with the galaxy. I guess all those years of arts and education and politics you kept buried under your new life as a shock trooper just needed a bit of spiced rum to bring them up to the surface. You were eloquent. You were passionate. And you made me think about things in ways I had never thought about them before.

What you did on Batiri - that was criminal too. But it was the right thing to do. It may not have been the right way to do it, but you did what needed to be done to change that place for the better. I’m just trying to do the same thing, in my own little ways, with my own little allies.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. 

“I really...made drunk speeches about politics?”

“ _Oh_ yeah.”

“And you _listened_ to me?”

“I did. You have excellent leadership skills if you ever cared to apply them. Maybe when all this is over, I can introduce you and the Mandalorian to some of the friends I’ve made along the way.”

She was amazed that she actually found herself considering his offer, “Maybe. Who knows?”

“Have you made up your mind?” a voice interjected. 

Cara turned to see Din approaching them, his pace unhurried. She wondered how much of their conversation he had heard. Brice turned his attention to the other man, dipping his chin in acknowledgment.

“I have. I’ll give you a datachip with the information you need to vet my contacts, but I trust you’ll be satisfied with them. You get me a location on Gideon and I will get you enough ships to outmatch his forces. You have my word,” he swore, outstretching his hand.

Din regarded him for a few heartbeats, then accepted the proffered arm, grasping him around the wrist, “You got an encrypted comm we can use?”

“I’m an intelligence officer, what do you think?” he replied sarcastically.

“Depends. Are you the guy making contacts, or just analyzing what the field agents bring in?”

Brice chuckled, “A little of both, actually. I like to have my finger to the pulse of the galaxy and I can’t do that just from an office. Here.”

He produced a comm link from his pocket, clearly modified for special use, and placed it in Din’s palm.

“It only connects with its pair, and the encryption is end-to-end, but we need to set up a personal passphrase and a compromised passphrase to add a layer of security. How about ‘it’s always sunny on Naboo’, reply: ‘it’s a nice day for a swim’ for the normal phrase. If either of us are in hot water, say ‘it’s always rainy on Kamino’, reply:--”

“It’s a nice day to drown Jango Fett?” suggested Din.

Cara almost spat out the caf she had been sipping, “You really have a thing for the Fetts, don’t you?”

“I really have a thing for impostors who drag the name of Mandalore in the mud wherever they go.”

“Okay, but considering Boba Fett - maybe - is currently after you, insulting his father may not be the best choice of phrase...especially if he’s the one who is listening in on the conversation.”

“Good point. Maybe we should leave Kamino out of it altogether then.”

“Agreed. Okay, I’ve got it, I’ve got it…’it’s always hot on Mustafar’, reply: ‘nice day to fry a Sith’”. Get it? Because Darth Vader got thrown into lava after his Jedi Master defeated him there?” Riddick suggested, laughing at his own joke.

“I’m not familiar with that story - but wasn’t Gideon obsessed with Vader? What if he’s the one listening?”

“Dammit. You’re right.”

“You two are really something else,” Cara interjected, though she was pleased that they had both let their guard down enough to banter. “Just say ‘it’s always sunny on Tatooine’--”

“Boba Fett was supposedly killed on Tatooine, though,” Riddick reminded her. “That might trigger him even more than Kamino.”

“For crying out loud, is there any place in the galaxy that Boba Fett does _not_ have bad memories of?” Cara complained.

“He got around, so probably not.”

“He never went to Mandalore,” Din observed.

“Yeah, because _that’s_ not going to be a sore subject.”

“Ask me how many frags I give.”

Brice hummed, “How about ‘it’s always windy on Lothal’? Reply: ‘Nice day to pet a Loth-cat.”

“I’m not really fond of Loth-ca--” Din began.

“It’s fine!” Cara yelled, slapping her hand over the lower section of his helmet to shush him. “Go with that one! Anything to end this conversation!”

“Fine,” they agreed.

“Okay, I’m getting antsy to get off this rock and back into cold space. How about you?” Cara asked Din.

“It wouldn’t be smart to stay here too long,” he agreed.

“Alright,” Brice said, sliding off his stool. “Keep me apprised of your situation with the hunters, and contact me if you get into a tight spot. I’ll keep my ear to the ground for any more intel regarding them or Gideon.”

“Thanks for all your help, Brice,” Cara said.

“I was happy to do it.”

“I’ll get our stuff,” Din offered.

“My pack is here, so just get your bag and the kid.”

“I take it you don’t want me to see him,” Brice asked when Din had disappeared around the corner.

“The less people know about him, the better,” she said, somewhat apologetically.

“I get it. Have you thought about taking him to Skywalker? He’s starting some sort of Jedi academy.”

“Nah. We just want him to have a chance at a normal life - if we can just get the heat off him.”

“ _We?_ Are you two his parents now? Do you even know where he comes from?”

“I’ve never seen or heard of his species before. We’re all he has, so yeah - I guess that sort of makes us his parents.”

“I see,” he said, a note of curiosity in his voice. “Oh, I have something else for you. I’ll bring it to the landing platform so you can get the child on board discreetly.”

“Thanks.”

Cara grabbed her pack and headed for the lift, waiting as Din appeared again with his bag and the baby, once more covered by the blanket in his crate. They ascended to the roof, Din taking both their bags inside before climbing into the cockpit with Bean and preparing for take-off. 

Brice emerged from the lift a few moments later, a large packing crate in his arms. He handed it to her, explaining, “Medical supplies. Since you two seem to get into so much trouble, I figured you should have some decent supplies. There enough bacta in there to treat some serious injuries, though I pray you won’t have cause to use it. Also, take some of the fuel canisters over there by the garage - I can’t use them with my new hybrid speeder anyway.”

“That’s...generous of you. How much do I owe you for all this?” she asked, hefting the crate under one arm.

“One ex-Imperial moff,” he replied. “And…”

He took her free hand between his and raised it to his lips, “Take care of yourself, Cara.”

“Okay, you old smoothie - stop slobbering on me,” she scolded, snatching her hand back and wiping it on her pants, but her tone was playful. “Seriously, thank you for everything. It was good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

“Say goodbye to Kate for me,” she added over her shoulder, as she turned and trotted up the side plank to set down the medical supplies. 

She lowered the back ramp and ducked outside again to retrieve the fuel cells. Activating the repulsorlifts below them, she guided them up the ramp one at a time, four cells in all. Closing both hatches, she climbed up into the cockpit and took her seat. She returned Brice’s wave goodbye and settled back as the ship began to make its slow climb between the narrow buildings of the mid-levels. She was quiet as Din navigated through the heavy traffic of the upper city. When the ships began to thin out and there was nothing but open sky above them and the black of space beyond that, she voiced the obvious question they had yet to discuss.

“Where to next?”

“Anywhere. The bounty hunters will catch up with us sooner or later, we just have to be patient.”

“Yeah, but if we know they’re coming, shouldn’t we go someplace where we have some sort of advantage?”

“The only place I would have had an advantage was Nevarro - but that is no longer an option.”

“Surely there are other places that you are familiar with the territory.”

“That’s not why I had the advantage there. I had friends.”

“From the Bounty Hunter Guild?”

“No. There’s something I haven’t told you yet - about my people.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s more of us.”

“How many more?” 

“Quite a few.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys - I am so sorry that this chapter took so long to post. I did a lot of re-writing to help it blend with the canon on the show while still trying to keep with my own direction for the plot. I'm not gonna lie, I cried through half of Cara's backstory as I was writing it - and I never cry over my own work. It took me time to tell that story in a way that I thought did justice my characters, as well as Cara and Din. That, plus I did a ton of research to get it to fit into what we know about the history of Mandalore up to this point. Obviously, we don't know when exactly The Purge happened, but all the history prior to that was canonical and not my own invention. Again, apologies for the wait! 
> 
> So, I know I promised more action in this one, but you're going to have to deal with a little more fluff before we jump back in the mess. At least you got a little action of another kind - riiiiiight? ;) Things are heating up for our favorite couple!
> 
> Love you all and I hope you enjoyed it!


	6. Making Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first starting writing this fiction, I had intended it to only be one or two chapters - believe it or not. I had ideas for a bigger story, but I didn't think I had time to write that story, so I was only going to do a snapshot of it. Well - so much for that. Haha. 
> 
> I was still watching the show unfold as I was making these plans, and some of the things that I had imagined ended up actually taking place on the show, just not in the time frame I had thought they would. Therefore, part of this chapter circles back to some of the events that happened in canon, before diverging back into my own tale. I kept some of the concepts and dialogue from episode seven because I thought it was well done...and I tweaked some conversations that didn't make sense to me when I heard them. I hope you enjoy the end result.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your continued support on this adventure. Also, thank you for your patience as I try to get these ever lengthening chapters written, edited, and posted in timely fashion. You guys are the best!

“Wait...I thought only a few of you survived the Purge,” Cara questioned.

Din plotted a short jump to Corellian space, from which they would hop onto the Corellian Run hyperspace lane back to the Outer Rim. When the _Razor Crest_ was safely cruising through the slipstream, he answered her.

“Only a handful of Mandalorians escaped from the Purge, that’s true. But a contingent of the fighting core were abroad at the time. And there were Mandalorian bases and strongholds scattered all over that sector, they couldn't have gotten all of them. 

Bo-Katan was a shrewd leader; she was prepared to defend Mandalore to the end against the Empire. But she was not willing for them to defend it to the last man and woman. She deemed our survival more important than our victory. Many disagreed and remained on Mandalore, even when she commanded them to leave. In the end, she ordered her own Protectors to abandon her and flee with the younglings and foundlings, along with several artisans, teachers, and historians, to ensure the culture survived. I was not with the fighting core at the time, and when I finally learned of the attack on Mandalore, it was already over, and the diaspora was scattered across the galaxy.

I searched for seven months before I finally found any survivors. They called themselves The Tribe. I knew some of them. Paz Vizsla was sort of an old rival from my days growing up in the fighting core, until he ended up with the heavy infantry division. The majority of them were younger, but a few seasoned warriors and specialists remained. Our leader was an armorer, who simply called herself The Smith. She led us in a new tradition to safeguard what was left of our people. 

Some of us, like Paz, were blood related to the powerful clans of Mandalore; but most were foundlings. We decided to remain in hiding until our numbers could be restored through adoption, induction, or natural births. We needed to keep our presence secret, so it was agreed that only one member of The Tribe would move about freely, while the others remained underground in the Covert. Those with limited cultural and trade knowledge, and no spouse or children, were numbered and put in a pool. The number was randomly selected - and it was mine.”

“But if only one Mandalorian is above ground, how are you supposed to adopt or induct new members?”

“It’s a slow process. As a member of the Guild, I am...was...able to do quite a lot of traveling. I discovered other Mandalorians on their own or in small groups. I directed them to the Covert on Nevarro where they could decide if they wanted to join the Tribe or remain apart. The Way that we follow is not a requirement of traditional Mandalorian culture - it’s the rules by which we now survive. There were other factions on Mandalore that had similar traditions; but now, we live this way out of necessity. It’s possible that there are other Mandalorians who have found other means to survive, but I have yet to find them. It will probably be generations before there's enough of us to gather the resources it will require to reclaim Mandalore as our home.”

Cara swiveled her chair toward his and propped her foot on the edge of his seat next to his thigh.

“So this whole rule about not revealing your identity to anyone but your family - that’s a new thing, then?”

“Yes and no. That requirement used to be limited to a - sub-clan, I guess you would call it - of Mandalorian culture. I was a member of that clan before the Purge, and when I joined The Tribe, I suggested we all live by the old traditions of that clan. The Smith agreed. Only our immediate family can see our faces - and no one outside the Tribe may know our names.”

“But you told me your name."

“Yes, I did.”

She smiled at him, then asked, "But even if I had known you before the Purge, I wouldn't have been able to see your face because you were part of that 'sub-clan'?"

He sighed, "Yeah. And honestly, I’m glad our paths never crossed before. The man I was then is not the man you know now.”

“You promised you were going to air out all your dirty secrets, so…?”

“I will, but there’s one thing I need to do first,” he stated in a weary voice.

“What’s that?”

“Sleep,” he yawned.

She gave him a sympathetic smile, “Fine. Go rest, I’ll look after Bean.”

He stood up and rolled his shoulders, “When we drop out of hyperspace, set course for the Arkanis Sector and make the next jump. The coordinates are already logged into the navicomputer. You know what to do?”

She slid over to his seat and leaned over the console, scanning the displays.

“I think so. Just select the destination here, right?”

“Mmhmm,” he confirmed, leaning over her shoulder with one hand on the back of her chair and the other braced on the dash.

“And then when the display flashes green, I just press this button with my thumb and push the lever forward at the same time?” she asked.

“That’s it.”

She peered up at him, “What if I mess something up?”

“What happened to my confident shock trooper?

“Your shock trooper is confident. Your novice pilot who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing is a little nervous about operating a hyperdrive powerful enough to kill us if I don't operate it correctly.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s a two-step process and you already know the steps.”

“Yeah, but-”

He raised his gloved finger to her lips to shush her, “I have faith in you, Cara. When I get up, I’ll start going over more of the systems with you.”

His fingers brushed her cheek and swept under her chin before he withdrew. She closed her eyes at the contact and resisted the urge to follow him when he left the cockpit. _Patience, Cara,_ she reminded herself. Patience was not one of her virtues, but it was one she was determined to master, for his sake. It would be a few hours before they dropped out near Corellia, and it was just her and the little guy to keep each other company. Spinning her chair in his direction, she sighed.

“So...what are we going to do to occupy ourselves while Daddy is snoozing?”

He stared up at her with large brown eyes, cocking his head to one side. 

“We could go down to the hold and play a game - but that might make it hard for him to sleep, huh?”

He babbled at her, making a ‘bababa’ sound.

“We could clean the blasters.”

He gave her a sour face.

“Okay, okay. That’s not very fun for you, I get it. Ooh, I know! Let’s see what we have left in the pantry and make some meals for later. I lost all our groceries on Lariva VII, so we’re probably going to have to get a little inventive to make something edible. You in?”

He made a happy cooing sound and held his arms up to her. She grinned and scooped him up, carrying him into the tiny galley. There wasn’t any extra counter space to set him on, so she sat him in the sink and began perusing the storage shelves. They really were getting dangerously low on supplies. She mentally kicked herself for not procuring food stuffs from Riddick while they were at his house. His kitchen was probably full of gourmet ingredients and spices that she wouldn’t have had the faintest idea of how to prepare, though. One thing was for sure, wherever they headed next, they were going to have to make shopping or hunting a priority. 

She dug way in the back and found a few vac dried packets of veg matter and condensed blue milk. If she tossed that in with the few fresh starchy vegetables she had left and the grains from one of Din’s ration boxes, she might be able to cobble together another edible stew. 

“Okay, Bean - can you help me rinse these off in the sink?” she asked, handing him the vegetables.

He perched on the edge of the sink and she helped him scrub the dirt off their ingredients. She cubed those and tossed them in a boiling pot of water. While those were cooking, she took the grains and a spice packet from the ration box and rinsed the grains off. She cooked those on the second burner. It was a rather arcane method of food preparation and it took four times as long as it would have taken in a galley that had modern food processing appliances. But that’s how it was on the _Razor Crest_ , everything was outdated and slow. She didn’t really mind it though. The work gave her something to keep herself busy and it kept Bean occupied. 

She set him on the floor and let him play with the empty ration box while she drained the boiled vegetables in the sink and put them back in the pot. Adding the spice packet to a bit of fresh water, she made a stock for the soup and thickened it with the milk. When that was done, she tossed in the veg matter and watched it thicken in the liquid. She added the grains last to give it more body. What it really needed was some meat for more flavor, but they had none left on board. When it had finished cooking, she divided it into four different containers. Storing three of them in the refrigeration unit for later, she left the last out for them to eat for their evening meal. 

It was half way through the ship’s day cycle, so she gave the baby a small snack. She had eaten breakfast late, so she decided to wait until later to have her meal. Having spent most of the last several months aboard a ship in space, she had gotten used to living on a ship cycle instead of a planetary day cycle. Even though the ship was set to a 24 hour cycle, most of the time they ignored it and slept when they felt like it and ate when they felt like it. Even the baby didn’t have much of an eating or sleeping routine. That sometimes became a nuisance when Din and Cara were both ready to sleep and he wasn’t because he had napped a few hours prior. On days like those, one of them would have to stay up with him, while the other caught some sleep and then they usually switched off. 

Cara thought that it might be time to start establishing some routines and rhythms to make their lives a little more stable and predictable. Her life in the military had taught her to appreciate the merits of such things. Every day had been a regimented structure: wake up, work out, eat, study, train, eat, maintain gear, paperwork, train, eat, downtime, workout, shower, sleep - repeat. Life on the run, going from job to job, being her own boss, had its perks, but she had suffered a bit for it too. Her muscles weren’t as toned, and she had gained some extra weight from eating like she was still working out twice a day when she was no longer burning those extra calories on a regular basis. She could give herself a good workout just using bodyweight resistance training, and sparring with Din regularly would keep her fighting skills honed. It wouldn’t hurt him any either to get some extra practice in...hand-to-hand fighting was not his strongest suit. He wasn’t bad at it, but he wasn’t spectacular either. She made a mental note to bring it up with him later.

She grabbed a datapad from her room and sat on the floor next to Bean, planning out a daily schedule that would fit their lifestyle. After that, she made a weekly schedule, including things like bathing the kid twice a week; maintaining the ship and their gear; cleaning, laundry, and cooking. Then, for good measure, she created a master list of their common grocery items and other essentials. She organized it so that she could highlight any items as they ran low, and then drag all the selected supplies into a condensed shopping list. She even included the price of each item averaged over the different Outer Rim planets they had frequented, so she could have an edge when bartering. _Kriffing hell, I’m turning into my mother,_ she thought to herself. The realization was not as unpleasant as she would have suspected. Satisfied with her work, she set the screen aside and stretched her arms over her head, pleased when her shoulder barely registered any discomfort. 

A chime from the cockpit forewarned her of their impending drop from hyperspace. She grabbed the baby and set him in his crate, taking her place in the pilot’s seat. As the blue of the hyperspace tunnel shifted into starlines, and the starlines shifted into stars, she took a quick inventory of their surroundings. Corellia was in the distance, filling the viewpanel on the starboard side of the cockpit, but still far enough away that it would take the better part of half an hour to reach on sub-light thrusters. Relieved to find no other ships in their vicinity, she tapped the next coordinates on the navicomputer screen. When the destination was highlighted in green, she reached for the lever, depressed the side switch with her thumb...and paused. _This is it. Your first hyperspace jump._ Taking a deep breath, she eased the lever forward, and didn’t empty her lungs until they were once more propelled forward into the kaleidoscope of brilliant blue hues unique to traveling in a contorted space/time continuum. 

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it Bean? At least I didn’t screw up and break the ship. Or kill us.”

He cooed in a tone that sounded suspiciously like relief. She looked at the display and noted that it would take thirty-nine hours to reach the coordinates that Din had selected. They were heading out further than they had been before, very near the edge of Wild Space. She considered pulling up the star charts to see where they were going, but decided to wait until Din woke up to ask him directly. She was unfamiliar with most of the planets in this sector, except for Tatooine and Geonosis, and it was highly unlikely they were headed to either of those sandpits. 

“Well, we’ve got some time to kill, kiddo. Want to come hang out in my room?”

She took him with her, pulling her bed down and setting him on it with a few items to keep him busy - the little metal ball he loved so much and a wooden fathier Din had whittled for him a while back. She unpacked her bag and straightened up her room before flopping on the mattress next to the baby. Deciding it would be nice to return the gift Din had given her, she took some time to try to teach the baby to say “Dada”. One would think it would be easier to pronounce than “Cawa”, but his little tongue seemed reluctant to find the back of his teeth to make the “d” sound. Resolving to work on it a little each day when Din wasn’t listening, she spent the next hour playing with him, before they both eventually fell asleep curled up with each other.

* * *

That was how Din found them later in the afternoon. Cara felt the familiar prick of someone watching her, her senses rousing her from sleep at the sensation. She cracked an eye open and quickly located the intruder where he stood leaning on the door, arms crossed over his chest, the side of his head resting on the frame. If it had been anyone else, Cara would have been perturbed to discover them watching her while she slept. But it was him, and for some reason, the rules didn’t apply to him. 

_That’s called being in love,_ the girl inside reminded her.

_Don’t be naive. It’s called infatuation. Eventually, the honeymoon is over and the things that annoy you still annoy you, even if it’s the person you love who is doing them._

_Do you think you’ll ever get tired of waking up to him staring at you with that look?_

_What look? You can’t even see his face._

_Yes you can. Look at his head leaning on the door. He’s smiling at you. He’s longing for you. He’s drinking in the sight of you and his baby - his family. Right now, all he wants is to throw off that gear, slip onto the bed, and wrap you two up in his arms._

_That’s wishful thinking. But oh, how I want to believe it,_ she admitted.

He pushed off the door and approached them, boots silent on the smooth metal floors. Instead of getting on the bed beside her, he squatted down next to it, resting his forearms on the edge of the mattress. Extending one hand, he gently brushed the back of his gloved fingers against the top of Bean’s fuzzy head. Cara lay on her side, with her head pillowed in the crook of her arm and the other wrapped around Bean’s tiny body. She carefully lifted her hand from him and caught the tips of Din’s fingers. Pinching softly, she tugged the material of his gloves until they slide off his hand. She discarded the glove and then guided him back to where he was before, petting the baby with bared skin. He seemed to understand what she was trying to do, and lingered for a while over the child’s head and soft ears. Bean stirred a little at the touch, and Din removed his hand, only to reestablish contact with Cara’s fingers a moment later.

She had been right before; he needed this. She smiled at him, then let her eyes wander to where their fingertips were brushing against each other’s. It was such a small touch, and yet the intimacy of it was overwhelming. It was not sexual per se, yet it was indescribably sensual. She was reminded of the fascination that Bean had taken with her hands on the day prior, but Din’s touch caused entirely different emotions and sensations to trip across her mind. He reached into her palm and gently pulled her fingers straight, extending his other hand to cup the back of hers and hold it flat. He began tracing patterns into her palm. An instant later, she realized he was spelling something. She had missed the first two letters, but the next she felt:

R

A

S

Y

N

T

H

I

A

 _Rasynthia? No, Carasynthia. My name. My_ full _name. How does he know that?_ Her eyes widened when it suddenly occurred to her that he must have overheard it when Riddick had been speaking to her last night outside his door. She wondered how much of that conversation he had been privy to. She tried to remember if she had said anything that she would regret him hearing. Deciding that it didn’t matter, she took his hand and began spelling something of her own.

C-A-R-A-S-Y-N-T-H-I-A, she paused. J-A-R-R-E-N.

He shook his head slowly, and spelled back into her hand, D-J-A-R-I-N. 

She smiled and whispered low, “I like it spelled it like that. How do you spell your first name?”

“D-I-N.”

“I would have spelled that wrong too.”

He cocked his head to the side, “How would you have spelled it?”

“D-Y-N.”

“Huh. I actually sort of like that better.”

“Who else knows your true name?”

“Only those who have seen the registers on Mandalore and The Tribe.”

“And they’re still on Nevarro?”

“They most likely have moved on by now. When I stole the kid back from the Imps, I got pinned down by the Guild - like I said before. But I didn’t tell you that it was The Tribe who came in and got me out of it. It probably took time to move all of them, but I’m sure they’ve scouted out a new location by now.”

“How will you find them again?”

“More than likely, one of them will find me first - probably help themselves to a key fob from one of the bounty hunters after us.”

“You think one of them is looking for you now?”

“It’s possible.”

“Maybe we can find some additional backup to take on Fett and his partner.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.”

“And?”

“Can you come with me without waking him up?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, carefully extracting herself from the bed without disturbing the baby.

Draping a blanket over him to replace the loss of her body heat, she followed Din out of her room and down into the hold. He walked over to where she had secured the medical crate and sat on it. She took a spot on the floor opposite him, her back against one of the fuel canisters. The space was a bit tight, so she sat with one leg stretched between his, her boot resting on the crate he sat on. 

“So what is it you’ve been thinking about?”

“Going to Riddick for help was hard for me - but I realize now that we can’t do this alone. We need him and his connections to take on Gideon. But before we can even get to that point, we have to deal with these bounty hunters.”

“That won’t be an issue. It’s only two of them,” she said, her tone exuding a confidence that she did not wholly feel.

“You are the one who fought them. Are you certain it will be that easy?” he asked, seeing right through her, as usual.

She pursed her lips and let her head drop back against the canister behind her, “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“When you got on the ship - back on Lariva VII - I saw something in your eyes I have never seen before,” he said in a low voice. “You seemed…”

“Scared?” she finished for him.

“Yes,” he answered, but there was no accusation in his tone.

She sighed, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She took a while to respond - not because it was the first time she was realizing it - but because she didn’t know how to put it into words.

“I was,” she finally admitted, and her voice nearly cracked with the effort. “And I wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling. Ever since I joined the Rebellion, I never hesitated to throw myself into the most dangerous training; the riskiest missions. I wasn’t afraid to die. I didn’t _want_ to die, but neither did I have anything left to lose. The Empire had taken it all away from me. So I never thought about it.

But over the last few months, something has changed - and I don’t know what or why. I’ve always been pretty good at sensing when I was in danger; but now, when I feel that prickly feeling on the back of my neck, my heart starts racing. Not just with adrenaline, but with fear. When I fought Fett - or whoever he was - I was okay. I felt like I could handle him. But then I got shot and I saw the other hunter...my blood ran cold.

And when I was running from them, hiding, trying to find my way back, that feeling kept growing inside me, gnawing at my guts. When I was talking to you, and I saw that man step into the space between us - and I lost your signal - I felt terrified.”

She leaned forward, her head resting on her knees, “All I wanted was to get back to the ship. I looked back and he was right behind me. I didn’t think I was going to make it, but I had lost my blaster and I didn’t have any choice but to keep running. And then I made it to the hangar and I saw you-”

She lifted her head and looked at him, and it was as if she was seeing him now as she saw him then, “I had never been more relieved to see anyone in my entire life. If I didn’t think he was going to follow me into the hangar, I probably would have tackled you to the floor and just held onto you.”

She laughed softly, looking away from him as the embarrassment of that revelation sunk in. She probably should not have admitted that part.

“I felt it too,” he said, his voice also pregnant with emotion. “I had felt uneasy the whole time you were gone that day. I kept on thinking I should go after you. And then you contacted me and said you had been attacked and I felt...I don’t know...sick. I just wanted to find you, even if I had to lock Bean on the ship. When you told me to wait, it was like I was being torn in half. When I heard your voice, I…”

He paused, and just stared at her for a few heartbeats. She wanted to stand up and crawl into his lap, put her arms around his neck and just hold on to him - the way she had wanted to when she saw him that day. Instead, she held his gaze and let him see the emotions swirling under the surface. She could see his too; in the way he was sitting, leaning slightly toward her, clenching and unclenching his right hand. 

“This is new for both of us,” he said slowly. “The fear of dying. The fear of losing each other.”

She rocked forward and knelt in front of him, reaching up and squeezing his knee firmly, “You’re right, it is a new feeling - and that by itself is scary. But all it means, all it really means...is that we have something worth living for, right? We have each other. And him,” she added, tipping her chin up toward the cabin above them.

His leg was trembling beneath her hand, and she watched his chest expand with a slow, deep breath. She pushed off his leg and rose to her feet, stepping into the space between his knees. He tilted his head up to her, and she pulled him to her. He turned so that the cheek of the helmet rested against her stomach, his arms wrapping around her waist. She wanted so badly to be able to run her fingers through his hair - assuming he had any; to knead his neck and touch the back of his ear. _Patience, Cara. Soon._

She held his head against her and rubbed her free hand against his upper arm and shoulder, back and forth. He held her so tightly she could barely draw breath, but he could have cracked one of her ribs with that embrace and she wouldn’t have cared. _This is what it feels like to have a home again_ , she realized. _It isn’t about a planet, or a house, or the things that are mine. It’s this...this feeling of love. Home is wherever this man is. Wherever he and our child are._

“Cara,” his throaty voice was nearly unrecognizable.

“Hmm?” she asked, loosening her grip so he could look up at her.

He slowly rose to his feet, forcing her to take a step back as he straightened. His arms still held her close and she never broke eye contact with the face of his helm, tipping her head back slightly as he drew himself to his full height. He was close to her, his head cocked slightly to one side. It occurred to her that were his helmet not between them, it would have been the simplest lift of her heels to kiss him. His mind likely occupied by similar thoughts, he tipped his head down and rested it against hers; the closest contact his face could have with hers. He held her there, his hands on her waist; hers on his shoulders, her elbows resting on his forearms. 

“From now on, when we leave this ship, we do it together,” he said, quietly, but firmly. “We stay together. We hunt together. We fight together. We win together. And then when it’s over, we leave - together.

“What about Bean?” she asked, drawing back slightly. “We can’t just leave him on the ship alone. He’d be too vulnerable, especially if they split up to distract us.

“We find someone else who can help keep him safe.”

“Do you have someone in mind?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

“I do.”

“Who?”

* * *

The _Razor Crest_ touched down on a stretch of dusty flats, thirty yards from the front door of a strange, squat domicile. Cara eyed the barren terrain around them and wondered what it was about this sector that seemed to produce such bleak landscapes. _They are all different, and yet, exactly the same_ , she thought, recalling the sand crawler they had spotted creeping across the wasteland as they made their approach - no doubt housing a horde of jawas. Din had made a sound of disgust in his throat when he saw it, and she figured there had to be a story there. 

Now, she followed him down the ramp of the _Crest_ , Bean shuffling along beside them. The harsh smell of animal manure assaulted her nostrils, and she narrowed her eyes at the strange bipeds slowly pacing their paddocks nearby. They stared back at her with large eyes set in enormous heads, neither making a show of aggression or timidity. One of them seemed to yawn, its massive, toothy grin reminding her of a space slug’s gaping maw. Movement ahead of them drew her attention back to the hut.

An Ugnaught approached them; an older male, going by the deep lines etched in his boarish face. But his eyes were sharp, and the frowning mouth framed by white hairs sprouting from cheek folds gave him the look of a venerable old man. When he spoke his greeting, his voice was a deeply gravelled rasp, as if he had spent most of his life breathing in the fumes of a smelting furnace. 

“I had not thought to see you again, Mandalorian,” he said, bowing before them and touching his hand to his forehead in the traditional greeting of his people. 

Din returned the gesture, then replied, “I didn’t think I’d be back here either.”

He turned to the side and glanced at Cara, tilting his head to beckon her forward. She stopped at his shoulder and locked eyes with their small host, dipping her chin in greeting.

“This is Cara Dune. She’s my - uh...friend,” Din awkwardly finished.

Cara mentally facepalmed and the Ugnaught gave the Mandalorian a look that said he wasn’t buying it either. 

“I see,” he said, and Cara was quite sure he did. “My name is Kuiil.”

He turned his attention to the tiny green alien hovering near Din’s feet, then raised his face back to the Mandalorian’s.

“I see we have much to discuss. Please, come inside,” he invited, turning into his home.

Din followed, ducking low through the door. Cara went in after him, concealing her amusement when her armored companion didn’t quite bend low enough to miss the beam his head collided with. Once fully inside, the floor recessed enough for them to stand up all the way. She found a place on the floor next to a small table. Din took the spot beside her and Bean toddled over and plunked himself down between their knees. Kuiil served her and the child a mug of some sort of aromatic tea, though the bitter taste was not to her liking. He did not offer Din any food or refreshment, indicating he was familiar with the Mandalorian’s customs. 

“How did this creature come to be back in your possession? Or did he never leave it?” Kuiil asked.

“I delivered him to the Imperial Client and accepted payment,” Din said, tapping a finger against his chestplate.

“Beskar? A very rich reward,” the Ugnaught observed.

“After everything that happened here on Arvala, I decided I couldn’t leave him with them. I would probably be dead if it wasn’t for him. So I took him back and fought my way off the planet. The Imperials have been sending Guild hunters after me ever since. We’ve managed to stay one step ahead for the last few months, but we can’t keep this up forever, and they aren’t giving up.”

“Do you have any idea who it is that wants it and why it’s so important to them?”

“The person who we believe is behind it all is a man named Moff Gideon. I don’t know if there's anyone pulling his strings, but since the Emperor is dead and the rest of his commanding officers have fled to the unknown regions, I am assuming he wants the kid for personal reasons.”

“Do you think it has to do with what happened with the mudhorn?”

“I think so. Apparently this particular Imp was obsessed with whatever religion the Emperor and Darth Vader were part of.”

“Sith,” Cara offered, remembering the term that Riddick had used. 

“And he thinks the kid has the same abilities as those sorcerers or wizards, or whatever you want to call them,” Din finished.

“So why are you bringing him back here - to a place where he’s already been?”

“Two reasons. I want to take a look around the compound those Nikto mercenaries were holding him at, and try to get some clues as to why they had him in the first place. They often work for the Hutts, so maybe we can find out how they came by him in the first place.”

“There is very little left at the compound that could be salvageable,” Kuiil said. “I went back there and combed through everything that had been left behind. Any operational technology had already been stripped by scavengers by the time I got there - even the bodies had been picked clean. I found nothing that even hinted that they had a child there at all.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Din sighed.

“What was the second reason you came here?” Kuiil asked.

Din shared a look with Cara before responding, “We need help. Gideon has sent two bounty hunters after us this time. One of them is a Mandalorian, or at least, he wears the armor.”

“We think it’s Boba Fett,” Cara added.

The Ugnaught somehow managed to deepen the frown on his face, “I am familiar with the name. He often did business with the various slavers of the galaxy, even hunting down some of my own kind. He was one of the reasons I never tried to escape my masters.”

“You were a slave?” she asked.

He nodded gravely, “When I was young growing up on my home planet, Gentes, my clan - like many others - fell upon hard times. Some of our leaders secured a large loan from an offworld investment firm to try and establish a factory in our territory. The venture failed. Many of our skilled workers went to labor in the Tibanna gas mines on Bespin. Those who remained behind were either too young to leave their mothers, or very old. Unable to keep up with the work, we fell into massive debt. The debt was sold to the Hutts, who called it in immediately. I was barely old enough to fend for myself when I was sold into indentured service. 

When the Galactic Republic reorganized into the Galactic Empire, new lines had to be drawn. The Empire had many planets under its shadow and it was not interested in picking a fight with the Hutts. However, certain deals were struck that allowed both parties to mutually benefit from their somewhat shaky tolerance of each other. The Empire, which claimed to have zero tolerance for slavery, just as it had when it was called a Republic, did not define indentured servitude as slavery. Therefore, it was legal for them to accept certain ‘unpaid labor’ donations in exchange for allowing the Hutts to do much as they pleased - so long as they kept it discreet. 

That’s how I came to be enslaved to the Empire not long after its rise. I had already served one hundred and forty-seven years when I was sold to the Empire. I worked for a time on the gene farms, maintaining the machinery used to sustain their bioengineering experiments. They usually died after a few months, despite our best efforts to keep them alive. Finally, shortly before the demise of the first Death Star, they declared that I had worked long enough to pay off my clan’s debt. When I returned home, there was nothing left of my clan. They had all long since been killed, enslaved, or simply left. I decided to come here and live the remainder of my life in peace, rather than risk being conscripted into service again. I still love to work with my hands, but now I can turn my skills toward work that pleases me. I can create something to be used for good. 

At that moment, movement at the door drew Cara and Din’s attention. Din immediately stood and pulled his blaster. Cara followed suit, training her borrowed weapon on the intruder. An IG droid ducked into the room, his spindly body awkwardly bending to gain him entrance. 

“I have finished feeding the Blurrgs,” it announced.

“Please! Lower your blasters,” Kuiil cried. “He will not harm you.”

“That thing is programmed to kill the baby,” Din countered. 

“Not anymore,” their porcine host insisted. 

He went on to explain how he had found the droid left in the compound after Din had destroyed most everything there. Cara knew that Din had initially trusted the bounty hunter droid and partnered with it to take possession of the asset - before they knew it was a child. They had agreed to split the reward. But when they had found Bean, the droid had orders to kill it on sight, whereas Din’s instructions were to try to bring it in, alive. Din had blown a brand new hole in IG-11’s head at that point, and left with his prize.

Kuiil had reconstructed the droid’s neural harness and reprogrammed it to function as a serving droid, companion, and protector. After months of painstaking work, he had managed to completely override the droid’s primary purpose and fashioned it into the galaxy’s most terrifying butler. Cara was amazed that something like that could be achieved by one lone Ugnaught, especially since the process he described sounded more like training and raising a child. He said he had used “patience and affirmation” to mold the droid into who he was now. 

Cara looked sidelong at Din as Kuiil’s story came to a close. He didn’t look any less on edge than he had when the droid had walked into the building, but he had holstered his weapon. She took another sip of her bitter tea, and mulled over what they had learned. She wasn’t thrilled to hear that their new friend had been in service to the Empire for so long, but she supposed he had no choice in the matter. He certainly seemed to have no love for it.

Although, it was suspicious that the Empire had suddenly just turned him loose. In her experience, the Empire never honored their agreements. Something about them deciding that Kuiil had worked long enough to earn his freedom - and then just letting him go - did not add up. Din seemed to trust him; but, then again, Din trusted a lot of people he shouldn’t. It was her job to be the shrewd one. She wouldn’t be hostile to the Ugnaught, but he had yet to earn her confidence. And until she trusted Kuiil, she couldn’t trust his droid completely either. 

“So you are concerned that with two bounty hunters on your trail, you will be unable to defeat them both and keep the child safe?” the slave-turned-moisture-farmer was asking.

“We need to capture them to trace back to Gideon - hopefully establish communication with him and call him out.”

“I see. And in order to do this, you will need the combined strength of a Mandalorian and a drop soldier,” he said, eyeing the tattoo on Cara’s arm.

He rose to his feet, “I need to shut the power down on my moisture vaporators. Will you accompany me, Mando?”

Din glanced questioningly at Cara. She nodded at him to go, placing her hand on Bean’s head and rubbing it - an unspoken reassurance that no droid, IG unit or not, was going to pose a threat to their boy while she was watching over him. Dipping his chin in reply, Din followed Kuiil from the hut. Cara returned her attention to the lanky droid. Something about him unsettled her, and not just because of his unit’s fearsome reputation. It occurred to her that he somewhat reminded her of the thin bounty hunter who had shot her. She shook her head slightly - it was unfair to judge him based on that sort of shallow correlation.

He regarded her and the child for a moment before asking, “Can I offer you anything to eat?”

“No thanks. I’m good right now,” she replied.

“And the small green one?” he pressed.

She smiled at his description, “Bean had a snack before we got here.”

“Bean? Is that this creature’s name?”

“Not exactly. The Mandalorian and I have not given him a real name yet. Bean is just a nickname he goes by in the meantime, because he is ‘small and green’, as you pointed out.”

“I see. His appearance reminded you of legume seeds that have been extracted from their pods.”

Cara chuckled, “I guess so.”

“How long do you intend to call him this?”

“I don’t really know. It’s more up to the Mandalorian than me,” she said, wondering if that was really true as she said it. 

Shortly after she had joined Din, she had been the one to ask that they give him a name. Din had said that he was not theirs to name; they were just looking after him until they could find a safe place for him. She had then suggested they nickname him, just so that they didn’t always have to refer to him as ‘kid’ or ‘child’ or ‘baby’. He had shrugged and said she could call him whatever she wanted. She had already called him Green Bean for a bit, and then it eventually got shortened to Bean. Din only occasionally called him that name, but he seemed to be using it more often lately. 

She hadn’t thought too closely on all the reasons they had not given him a permanent name yet. Din had said it wasn't their place to name him. She thought that it probably had more to do with the idea that, if they named him, it would be harder for them to leave him behind. That was five months ago though, and lately he had been talking as if he did consider the child to be his, or rather - theirs. If that was the case, maybe it _was_ time to give him a formal name. 

“Why the interest in the kid’s name, anyway?” she asked the droid, genuinely curious.

“We do not interact with many others here, so I am eager to learn all I can about the customs of our guests, rare as they are. I have little experience with family units, but yours strikes me as outside the norm.”

Cara laughed, “You’re not wrong about that, buddy.”

“Buddy?” the droid queried.

“Yeah. Buddy. Friend. Pal. It’s something you call someone you’re fond of.”

“I know the definition of the term. Do you regard me with 'fondness' after just having met?”

“Apparently, I do. Tell me - IG-11 - was it? What do you remember of your life before coming to be in Kuiil’s service?”

“His face is the first memory I have. He has informed me that I had a life before this and that I was injured, damaging my memory banks. He wiped what was left and repaired me, though my neural harness was so badly damaged, he had to teach me how to do even the most rudimentary skills.”

“So what are your skills now?”

“My duties include feeding the blurrgs, preparing meals, keeping the house and grounds in order. Kuiil is also teaching me to maintain the moisture vaporators and other work around the farm.”

“Do you have any other skills?” she pressed. 

“Should Kuiil or this property come under threat, I am also programmed to protect him - and anyone who is his guest, of course.”

Cara smiled. So he was not completely devoid of the instincts and purpose he had originally been manufactured for, after all. IG units were some of the most efficient killing machines ever crafted - more deadly that even the Separatist battle droids in the old days, save for perhaps the destroyer units. Supposedly, this particular droid had only the inclination to fight if his master was in danger. She wondered how much of a “threat” would have to present itself for him to display those protective qualities. A physical action? An argument? Before she could allow herself to fully trust him, she would need to test those boundaries. 

Still, she had not lied. She was rather fond of him with his curious, yet matter-of-fact, way of speaking. He was an enigma, and she had a deep-rooted desire to solve those sorts of mysteries. It was probably the last remnant of the young woman she had been on Alderaan; always wanting to discover what made people the way they were. She had loved to learn back then. Life’s horrors had left her a little more cynical, and less inclined to care about a being’s personality, beyond determining whether or not they posed a threat. Her mental aptitude for analyzing people and situations had been turned to tactical applications. 

Being with Din and Bean over the last several months has caused some of her previous interests to resurface - such as behavioral and cultural studies. She wanted to know everything about Din; his personality, his habits, his heritage - before and after becoming Mandalorian. Likewise, Bean’s entire existence was one big question mark, and she wanted nothing more than to find out something, anything, about the the little creature they had come to accept as their own. 

“Well, I hope we fall into that category,” she replied, putting those thoughts aside for now.

“Certainly. Unless you were to turn on Kuiil, you are as much under my protection as he is.”

“You don’t have to worry about that - we came here because we need his help,” she said, then paused as she considered another possibility. “Actually, we could really use both of you.”

“How can I be of use?”

“The people who are hunting this guy,” she said, indicating Bean, “are pretty nasty characters. It’s going to take both the Mandalorian and I to fight them, but we can’t leave him unprotected. Mando trusts Kuiil, that’s why we came back here - to ask him to help us look after the baby until we can take out these bounty hunters. But you are far more capable of keeping him safe than your master is. So if he agrees to help, I really hope you’re part of the package.”

“I would be honored to be trusted with such a task,” the droid said. “If my master is in agreement.”

He leaned forward slowly, stretching his hand across the table and extending one digit toward Bean. Cara tensed slightly, but saw absolutely no aggression in his posture or manner. Bean reached out and closed his little claws around the tip of the droid’s finger, cooing at him amicably.

_Well, at least Bean seems to like him._

Kuiil returned at that moment, Din ducking into the room behind him. He froze when he saw Bean touching the droid, but she made a small placating gesture with her hand, reassuring him. He made his way over to them and stiffly lowered himself to the floor, never taking his eyes off the droid.

Oblivious to the hostile aura of the Mandalorian across from him, IG-11 continued to allow Bean to play with his finger for a few moments longer, before gently withdrawing his hand. Kuiil had sensed the tension, however, and asked the droid to check the perimeter of the grounds.

The droid replied an affirmative, but then asked, “Are you expecting danger?”

The Ugnaught replied, “We need to be vigilant - our guests are being hunted by powerful enemies. We must ensure their safety while we are here.”

“I understand. Have you chosen to aid them?” 

Din looked from IG-11 to Cara.

“Yes.”

“I will keep the area secure.”

“Take this commlink,” Kuiil said, handing him the device. “Contact me if anything seems amiss.”

When IG-11 had left the house, Kuiil turned to Din, “I will begin work on the items you requested.”

“Thank you,” Din replied. “Could I speak with you outside?” he directed the question to Cara.

“Sure.”

She unfolded herself and stood up, pausing when Bean touched her leg and looked up at her questioningly.

“Should we bring him? Or…” she glanced at Kuiil.

The Ugnaught shrugged, “He can stay here so long as you aren’t gone long.”

“We won’t be,” Din assured. 

“Stay here, Bean. We’ll be right back,” she assured, guiding him over to Kuiil. “You want to go see what our new friend is working on?”

He looked up at the Ugnaught with curiosity, and did not protest when Kuiil bent to pick him up. Cara smiled and looked to Din. He jerked his head to the side and Cara followed, getting the distinct impression he was displeased with her. She stepped out into the cool air of the desert evening, the smells of the livestock less offensive now that she was becoming accustomed to them. To her surprise, Din did not stop when they were outside, but continued up the ramp of the _Razor Crest._ This was going to be interesting. Once aboard, she slapped the switch to the ramp and waited for it to close behind her. Din rounded on her, but hesitated when he saw the ramp closing. When it was sealed, she closed the distance between them and looked him as square in the visor as she could - grateful that he was only three inches taller than her.

“You got something to say to me, Din? The door’s shut, the kid’s can’t hear us - you’re free to yell all you want. Go ahead.”

He seemed taken aback. She knew he had been angry - she could tell from his tone and the way he had stalked out of the hut. But now, most of the fight seemed to go out of him. His voice was still strained when he answered her, though.

“I’m _not_ going to yell at you,” he said. “I just want to know what the hell you were thinking letting that droid near him like that. You know that was the same droid who tried to kill him before.”

“Yeah, and then you shot him in the head and Kuiil reprogrammed him,” she countered, controlling the anger in her own voice. “What is your deal?”

“Cara, he’s a hunter. All IG units are hunters - it’s in his nature to kill.”

“The nature of a droid is determined by the person who owns them. I’ve seen an Imperial torture droid reprogammed to be a therapist, for frag’s sake. Droids are droids. They aren’t good or bad, they just do what they’re programmed to do.”

Din’s shoulders sagged, “That’s what Kuiil said too. He said that if I trusted him, then I should trust his work.”

He shook his head, taking a deep breath and straightening - the edge was back in voice when he spoke again, “But IG-11 was given orders to eliminate the target. He could wake up one day and remember his original mission and purpose. The baby would be dead before anyone knew he had a glitch, and we would be powerless to stop it from happening.”

There was so much fear and anguish in his voice as he said it, Cara felt her heart breaking for him. This wasn’t about IG-11, not really.

“Din,” she said, putting her hand on the center of his chestplate. “The droid’s memories were wiped, along with the backups. You know what that means. He cannot possibly recall his mission unless he found one of his own external backups. And even then, you shot him on that last mission - so the backup would have had to be made _after_ he received his orders to kill the kid, but before you scrapped him. He has no way of getting access to his backup files, or the knowledge of where to even look for them.”

“But--”

“You have to stop this. I know why you hate droids. They took your family from you. Believe me, I get what it’s like to hate the ones who ruined your life.”

“If you understand, why are you defending him?” he asked, his tone less an accusation and more the sound of someone who was being betrayed. 

“Because you’re wrong about this,” she said gently. “The droids who killed your family were just proxies of the Separatist Alliance. And the entire Separatist movement was just a ploy by Chancellor Palpatine to sow seeds of chaos throughout the galaxy so he could swoop in and ‘save’ everyone as _Emperor_ Palpatine.”

“What?”

“It’s true. I’ve been reading the history files that Riddick gave me, complete with the information gained from the Imperial archives. They are very enlightening. But the point is this: Palpatine manipulated everything and everyone to get what he wanted. The Separatists were his pawns. And the droid army they used, were just instruments of their will - his will. So if you’re going to direct your hate at someone, direct it at him.”

“He’s dead.”

“And the Separatists movement ended decades ago, so they’re dead too. Now all you have left to keep your hate alive is droids. Except you have saddled the blame of the droid army that was programmed to destroy your home on every droid you have ever met. You think because those ones killed your parents, they are all out to kill the rest of your family.”

“He _is_ out to kill my family!” Din snapped.

“No! Gideon is out to kill your family! He hired the droid’s master and had IG-11 sent out with orders to destroy. And now the droid has a new mandate - to serve and protect. Stop projecting your wrath where it isn’t due. Trust your friend. Trust me…” she whispered that last.

“I would never do anything that would put him in danger,” she promised. “Don’t you believe that?”

The conviction is his voice when he said “yes” was reassuring; even more so the sincerity of his next words. “I’m sorry I questioned you. You’re right, I _have_ been directing my hate in the wrong place. I just can’t forget what happened.”

Her hands slid up his chest and wrapped around his neck. He reciprocated with a crushing embrace, dipping his head to her shoulder. For a moment, she felt as though she was clutching a scared little boy to her, instead of the man she loved. In a way, she was. His hatred and phobia toward droids stemmed from a fear that was sown in the heart of a child; it was a feeling he had held to his entire life. Even though he knew how droids worked, he stubbornly clung to his prejudice because it was rooted in the trauma of his youth. It wasn’t something that could be easily fixed. But he didn’t have to live with it forever, either.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You _can_ get past this, one step at a time. I’ll help you.”

He raised his head slightly and leaned the cheek of his helmet against her temple, “I don’t deserve you.”

Those were her words returned to her. Suddenly she was back in the arms of the man she had a burning desire to know - in every sense of the word. She became aware of everywhere their bodies touched, and she was half resentful, half grateful for the layers of clothing and armor separating them. She gave the back of his helmet a rough smack.

“Don’t do that,” she repeated what he had told her. “Because whether or not either of us deserve this, I’m not going to let it go. I’m not going to let _you_ go.”

He chuckled, reaching to the back of his head, “Can I always expect you to be so violent with your affections?”

She lifted the corner of her mouth, looking up at him from under a fan of thick, black eyelashes; slowly tracing the lower edge of his helm with one finger.

“If this thing wasn’t between us, I could have used a more pleasant method to get you to shut up.”

“But if that were the case, Kuiil would be stuck watching Bean for a lot longer than we said he would,” he reasoned, his voice pitched low. 

“I wouldn’t have to be a long kiss,” she argued.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “It would.”

“Oh?” she asked, rubbing his neck through the thick material surrounding it.

“The last time I was kissed was by my parents,” he reminded her. “So, not exactly practice for what I intend to do with you. It’ll take some time for you to show me how to do it properly.”

His words left her feeling a little whip lashed by her emotions. She knew he had never had the helmet off since he came of age - but to have never kissed anyone beside his parents? He never kissed a Mandalorian girl when he was a teenager before he took the oath? Or even kissed the cheek of the Mandalorians who saved him or raised him when he was a little boy? 

But here he was admitting that to her, and at the same time telling her that he wanted her to be the one to teach him. He wasn’t just rusty - his lips were completely untried. And _she_ was the one he wanted to learn with. She was the one he wanted to gift his very first kiss. He would give his breath to her alone, and he intended to savor that moment; to draw it out over minutes and hours and…

_What if kissing isn’t the only thing he has never done before? Don’t ask him that, Cara. Don’t--_

“Din?”

_Don’t do it._

“Hmm?”

_Cara. Shut up. You can’t just ask a man if he’s ever--_

“Have you ever been with anyone?”

_Shit._

He paused before answering.

_Cara, you are such an idiot. Damn your curiosity. You couldn’t just wait to find out…_

“No. Not really. I came close, once,” he shifted uncomfortably. “With someone I used to work with before I became a bounty hunter. One time we got caught in a tight space on a job and had to wait for it to clear out before we could escape. She sort of took advantage of the opportunity and I let her...touch me. Through my clothes, I mean,” he hastily added.

She put a finger to his helmet, “You don’t have to give me all the details. I shouldn’t have asked you that - I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I get why you would want to know.”

“I really don’t care one way or the other. It’s not like I’m a virgin - as you’re well aware.”

“But you have experience - and I do not. For some people, that’s a deal breaker.”

She looked at him, quirking an eyebrow, “You think I wouldn’t want to be with you because you had never actually had sex with someone else? Are you kidding?”

“What I meant was - would be willing to commit to me not knowing how I was...in bed?”

She snorted, “Would I marry a man who had zero knowledge of how to please a woman other than what I was about to teach him? Hell yes. I’m an excellent instructor.”

“You’re not worried at all that I won’t be good at it?”

She rolled her eyes, “The idea of someone being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at sex is absurd. When you love someone, you will learn to make love to them in a way that is pleasing to both of you. Are you going to be an expert right out of the box? Of course not. But learning, and experimenting, and getting to know each other in that way is fun too. Sex isn’t the pinnacle of a successful relationship - and the people who believe that don’t really know what love is. Sex is an expression of love, not the ultimate goal of it.”

He made a curious sound in the back of his throat, “Somehow, I thought this would be a bigger deal to you.”

“Don’t get me wrong - I enjoy it,” she laughed. “But I learned a long time ago that sex was not satisfying if you didn’t give a shit about the person you were doing it with. You’re left feeling just as empty as you were before. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone before, and it’s not because I need a distraction or because I’m just infatuated with your appearance - obviously - I don’t even know what you look like. But that doesn’t matter to me."

"It doesn't matter to you? At all?" he asked dubiously.

"I don’t have to know what you look like to know you are a good person. I don’t have to know what you look like to know that we make the best partners. I don’t have to know what you look like to know that you are exactly the sort of man I can respect. I don’t have to know what you look like to know that you are the only person in the galaxy that I want to give myself to - all of me. I’m actually glad that I don’t know what you look like, because it has helped me get to know you for you - without the distraction of outward appearances. That said, I’m ready for that next step whenever you are.”

“I want to take this off for you,” he said, gesturing to his helmet. “It’s not that I’m not ready for you to see me. I am. But you need to know that binding yourself to me comes with a cost - and it’s a steep one. My people are in hiding. You’ve been on the run from the law too, but you’ve been free to go from planet to planet with me. When I find The Tribe again, they may require you to take the same oaths I took for us to be bound to each other. And even if you choose that - to start a clan with me - what if they decide that you need to stay hidden with them to keep our numbers a secret? I can’t imagine you being happy living underground. 

You said yourself - we make good partners. And we do. I’ve worked alone for so long, I forgot what it was like to have someone I could really trust. Even with hunters one step behind us for all these months, I have enjoyed this time more than...more than anything I have ever done. If you choose to be with me - to marry me - I could lose that.”

“So what’s the alternative? What happens when we beat Gideon and we really are free? You rejoin the Guild - if they take you back. Or maybe we do some freelance work. If we don’t get together, then we are free to go where we want, and do what we want - except we can only be friends...working together...on a tiny ship...when all we want to do is be together? I couldn’t do that. Could you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“So, either I suck it up and live in hiding - if that’s what they decide - or we go our separate ways and try to live life knowing that the person we want to be with is out there somewhere? Are those our only options?”

“Unless I leave The Tribe.”

“Let’s table that option for now. What if The Tribe allows me to take the oath and lets both of us stay above ground with Bean? Our own little clan, like you said? I could go all in, train, and wear the armor if that’s what it takes.”

“Are we going to bring him on all our jobs forever?”

“We can always find a nanny droid,” she suggested, grinning.

“We get shot at - a lot. That’s no life for a kid.”

“It was your life,” she reminded him.

“Which is exactly why I want better for him.”

She sighed, “You’re right. And if our clan of three ends up growing…”

He sucked in a breath, “You would want more?”

“I mean, if you asked me a year ago, I would have said ‘no chance’ - but I don’t know now. The domestic life isn’t as bad as I had imagined it. I’m not saying I want to be stuck in a little hut, surrounded by Bean and seven babies we make together, cooking and cleaning all the time. I still want to have some adventures. But I’m tired of being a soldier. A little peace and quiet might be kind of nice. Do you...would you want more?”

“I --” he paused, gathering his thoughts. “I would. I think. I’m not sure I’m really good with kids…”

“Let me stop you right there. You _are_ a good father. Period. You give a damn about kids when most of the rest of the galaxy treats them like they’re a burden, or a nuisance, or an asset. You decided to uproot your whole life to save a kid who wasn’t even yours. So we can skip right over that objection. Next.”

“You are good mother too, you know.”

“I appreciate that. I honestly didn’t think I had any knack for it at all - but lately, with him - I’m finding myself doing all the things my mom used to do when we were little, without even thinking about it.”

“I think they call that ‘maternal instinct’.”

“Yeah, well I used to think that was a load of bantha shit. But I’m starting to question a lot of what I used to believe, lately. Maybe it would be nice to have a couple of our own one day. And even if we aren’t planning for it to happen - sometimes it just does.”

“You wouldn’t…?” he didn’t finish the sentence.

“End an unexpected pregnancy? Never. Even if it was something we weren’t trying for, I couldn’t kill a child we made together. I wouldn’t kill a child for any reason. But we might be getting a little ahead of ourselves here - talking about possible kids and all this when we haven’t even done stuff like - oh, I don’t know, kiss?”

“These are the conversations we need to have before we get to that point,” he insisted, his hands rubbing her upper arms.

“Point conceded. We do need to talk about a lot of things. But talking about it, and planning out all the possibilities and ‘what ifs’ isn’t going to make it easier to walk away if the price is too high.”

“Cara, walking away from you _right now_ would be the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. If I had to do it after we had already started down that path - kissing, making love, beginning a life together - I’m not sure I could do it at all. But I don’t want to entice you into something more, only for you to feel trapped by my lifestyle as a Mandalorian. It’s not just me you would be marrying. I come with an entire destroyed culture’s worth of baggage - and I won’t put that burden on your shoulders unless it’s something that you choose to accept yourself.”

She closed her eyes and smiled; but when she opened them again, fire lit her gaze, “That’s fine. But you need to understand something. When I make my decision - that’s it. You can’t keep adding on more and asking me if I’m sure, or what about this or that. You tell me everything you think I need to know to make an informed choice. I’ll wait long enough for that. But then you have to let me make it. And _when_ I tell you that I want to be your wife - you better be ready to put a ring on my finger or whatever you Mandalorians do when you get married - because I’m not going to bed that night unless you’re in it. Clear?”

He audibly swallowed, and she wasn’t sure if it was from intimidation or anticipation - and frankly, she was fine with either.

“Clear,” he said after a moment.

“Good. Now, I think we’ve left that poor Ugnaught babysitting in there for long enough. You coming?” she asked, disentangling herself from him and taking a step back.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, walking over to the ladder and putting his foot on the first rung. “I need to take care of a few things and get Bean’s box.”

She gave him a puzzled look, before grinning devilishly, “Sure, you ‘take care’ of your thing and I’ll see you in a bit.”

“That’s not what I--” he stopped, realizing it was futile to deny anything at this point. She had him.

“I’ll just think up an excuse for what took us so long,” she promised. “Oh, I know.”

She dug her fingers into her own hair, disheveling it just enough to be noticeable, “There.”

“Cara,” he called after her. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” she said, slapping the keypad to lower the ramp. “He’s almost two hundred years old - he’ll figure it out.”

“But we didn’t do anything,” he whisper yelled at her, as the ramp extended to the ground, filling the cabin with a gust of breeze.

“You want me to tell him we left him alone to have a ‘define the relationship’ chat for twenty minutes?”

“No, but--”

“Just take care of your situation and leave this to me.”

“I no longer have a situation, thank you - I’m just getting the crate. Wait for me.”

She gave an exasperated sigh, but did as told. He disappeared up the ladder, then slide back down a few seconds later with the crate that functioned as a crude pram for the baby. 

“Hang on,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and turning her away from him 

He finger combed her hair back to order and gave her a light shove down the ramp. She gave him a big smile over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose at him.

“You are so adorable, sometimes - you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just stop trying to make everyone think that we’re fooling around,” he scolded.

“Why? You wanted Brice to think we were,” she countered.

“That was different.”

“Mmhmm. Whatever you say. I’m definitely detecting a double standard though,” she pointed out, ducking through the entrance.

Din quickly scanned the room, and when he was satisfied that they were alone, whispered, “There was a point to that.”

“Yeah, you wanted to make an old boyfriend of mine jealous. That was the point.”

“That was _not_ the reason.”

“Oh right. Sorry. You were angry at him for being a jerk to me, so you resolved to get even with him...by making him think we were _sleeping together_ ,” she said, wheeling on him with a look that dared him to deny it.

Her tone had matched his at the beginning of her statement but the volume had increased as she went on, until her last words were spoken at a normal conversational pitch. She smirked at him when he had no good comeback for that - since it was the truth. He had admitted as much at Riddick's house, after all.

“You know what I think?” she said.

“What?” he prompted, tilting his head toward her and nearly eliminating the space between their faces.

“I think _you_ were the one who was jealous.”

“What do you want me to say, Cara? That I wanted to punch him in his perfect face from the moment I saw him because I knew he and you had something that we didn’t? Or that I wondered if you would compare me to him if we do get together?”

Cara had just meant to tease him with playful banter, not actually coerce some sort of confession of his insecurities. Now she felt guilty. But it was out there and apparently the conversation they had started on the ship wasn’t quite over. 

“When. _When_ we get together. And I wasn’t actually trying to get you to admit anything - I was just teasing.”

“You are right, though. I was jealous,” he admitted.

“Well, you don’t have to be. I am going to say this one more time, and this is going to be the end of it, okay? Riddick is in my past. Just like that girl who got handsy with you that one time is in your past. Leave them there.” 

She finished with a breathy whisper, “You are my future. And I’m yours.”

“You mean, _if_ I’ll have you,” he said after a long pause, reverting back to a teasing tone.

She snorted, “Oh ho - who’s joking around to avoid the personal stuff now?”

“Please. I’ve confessed more feelings in the last four days than I have in the last three decades.”

“Yeah, me too. So, how about we go find out where Kuiil and the kid wandered off to?”

“That won’t be necessary,” a gravelly voice spoke from behind a thick canvas divider at the back of the room. “We’re in here.”

Cara and Din shared a look, before she burst into peals of laughter. It was simply too embarrassing to do otherwise. 

“Oh shiiiiiit. You heard all that, didn’t you?” she said, between gasps for breath.

“Well I was going to say something, but then it got interesting,” he said, pushing the canvas aside and walking into the room, Bean toddling after him. “It’s good to know that at least, in some ways, Mandalorians are just like the rest of us.”

Din looked like he wanted to bolt out the door, but he nodded and replied, “It’s a wonder you have any respect for Mandalorians at all after meeting me. First I get my ass handed back to me by a mudhorn and have to be saved by a five pound infant...now I’m in your house hashing out my relationship issues.”

“On the contrary, I think better of you,” Kuiil said. Gesturing to Bean, he explained, “This child helped you kill that beast. You repaid him by throwing away everything to save him from a life of servitude - or death - at the hands of evil men. You have returned here asking for help from one such as I to further that goal...and more impressive, you actually convinced me. And just now, you were humble enough to admit that you felt envious of another man to the woman you love. These are not the actions a man unworthy of respect. It is a credit to those who raised you to be as you are.”

Cara stared at the old Ugnaught, surprised as much by the depth of his praise as the eloquence of his speech. She blushed when he had referred to her as “the woman you love” to Din. He was right, and she had used the same word to describe their feelings in her head, but for it to be uttered aloud to both of them - and by a third party, no less - made the whole thing seem more real. She looked at Din and wondered if he felt the same way. 

Kuiil turned to her abruptly and pointed at her feet, “I need one of your boots.”

“Uh...okay? What for?” she asked.

“Mando has requested that I make transmitters for the both of you, so that if you were to become separated from each other, you’ll have a way to find each other.”

“You finished it already?” Din asked.

Kuiil shrugged, “I already had the components, it was just a matter of recalibrating them. This is essentially the same concept as a binary beacon. It will transmit her location to you from the other side of the galaxy, but it doesn’t broadcast the signal in the same way a tracking fob does. Your devices are paired to each other’s alone. Do you have a place for yours, Mando?”

Din nodded and took the device that the Ugnaught handed to him. He turned and regained his previous seat next to the table. She lowered herself next to him and yanked off her boot, handing it to Kuiil.

“I will make a compartment in your heel for the transmitter. Then I will make a pram like the one he had before. Do you have the repulsors I asked for?”

Din pointed to the crate by the door, “Over there.” 

“Very well. This won’t take long,” he said, retrieving the box and disappearing back behind the canvas.

“Did you ask him to make the transmitters because of what we talked about earlier?” she asked.

Din took off his chest plate and secured the transmitter into a small hollow on its underside, near the center, “I don’t want to be separated, but the reality is - for this to work - we’re going to eventually have to split up. This way, if we’re out of comm range, or Fett jamms the signal again, we’ll still be able to find each other.”

“It’s a good idea.”

“That’s the only kind I have.”

She barked a laugh, “Oh I could name a few pretty bad ones. Luckily I was there to save your lovely ass.”

“Cara…” he warned, tipping his head in the direction Kuiil left in.

“Oh for crying out loud, he _knows_. What’s the point in watching what we say now?”

He shrugged in response, flopping back against some sacks of grain that were piled behind him, folding his arms behind his head.

“So, what’s our next move? We can’t stay here long or they’ll find us,” she pointed out. 

“I figure we’ve got at least three days before they could track us out this far. That will give us time to think up a good location for a trap. We need to keep Kuiil and IG-11’s presence a secret from the hunters. Kuiil is making a new pram for the kid like the one he had before. It had a cover on it that could be closed. I figure if we could go out with the pram, leaving the kid on the ship with Kuiil and the droid, they won’t be able to resist the bait.”

“Yeah, but the tracking fob will lead the hunters to the ship, not to us.”

“I talked to Kuiil about that too. He said he can clone the signal the tracking fob picks up. He can’t eliminate the actual fob from transmitting, but he might be able to confuse them by making it look like there are two signals.”

“They won’t know which one is real, so they’ll have to split up.”

“Even if they choose to attack us or the ship together, we’ll have the advantage. The _Crest_ has ground defense protocols that will make it impossible for them to get in. If they choose to attack the ship, we can circle back and pin them down.”

“What if they split up?”

“Then we deal with the one who came after us first, and then go back and deal with the one at the ship. If we have to split up for any reason, we have the transmitters.”

“Gotta hand it to you, it’s not a bad plan. Got any ideas of where to set it up?”

“Not really. You?”

She thought about it, “Maybe. Let’s look at the star charts in the morning and see if we can narrow it down.

“Sounds good,” he said, yawning under the helmet.

She rubbed the top of his knee where he had it bent next to her, “You should go get some sleep on the ship. I’ll get Bean some dinner and bring him in later when he’s ready for bed.”

“You good here?”

“Of course.”

“Alright,” he said, groaning softly as he sat up. 

He rubbed Bean’s ear, “G’night, womp rat. See you in the morning, Cara.”

He touched her chin before getting up to leave. She watched him as he crossed the room, his cape swaying with each step. She had never told him before, but she actually liked the accessory on him. She used to think they were stupid and pointless, but she had to admit, there was something very attractive about a man in armor wearing a cape. He ducked through the entrance, and she saw him pause just on the other side, his body angled away from the ship. She could only see him from the shoulders down, but something in his demeanor changed. 

Suddenly, his hand reached for his blaster, and she was on her feet before he could give warning, scooping Bean up in her arms. She was instantly aware of the fact that she only had one boot on, cursing under her breath.

“Incoming ship!” he shouted from outside the hut.

“Kuiil, get in here!” Cara yelled. 

“No! Get back, get back!” Din yelled.

An explosion went off nearby, rocking the house. A lantern shook loose from its hook, the glass shattering when it hit the ground. Cara could still see Din outside the doorway, crouching down.

“I’m going to head him off with the _Crest_ \- stay under cover!” he instructed.

Kuiil emerged from the room behind her, “Help me with this!”

She was torn for a moment, looking to the spot Din no longer occupied and then to the Ugnaught. The only weapon she had was the blaster pistol at her side - which would do no damage to a ship. There was heavier weaponry on the _Razor Crest_ , but getting to it would reveal her position. He was right, she needed to keep herself and the baby hidden. Clutching the frightened child to her chest, she turned and followed Kuiil behind the curtain. 

The room beyond was a small workshop, littered with scrap, tools, and machinery. Kuiil was throwing a few tools into the crate that Din had brought him, along with a few pieces of scrap.

“Forget the pram, we need to get out of here!”

“Here,” he said, tossing her boot to her.

Setting the baby down, she pulled it on and secured the ties. She heard the whine of the _Razor Crest’s_ engines as it powered up, then the thrum as they picked up speed, lifting the bulky ship off the ground. She could hear the sound of laser fire overhead, but it was no longer directed at the buildings. The _Crest’s_ forward cannons answered in kind. She knew Din would draw the ship away from them, but he was also their only means of escape. Unless he could shoot down the enemy, they had nowhere to run. 

“Do you have any place below ground where we can keep our heads down?” she asked.

“Yes, but we have to make it over to the moisture vaporators. I have one cistern that is unhooked at the moment, so we can hide down there.”

“How far?”

“Three hundred yards.”

“Frag.” 

It wouldn’t take her long to sprint that distance, but the Ugnaught was old and had short legs. There wasn’t much to conceal them out that way either. Unless…

“You got a comm for that IG unit?”

He scrambled over to his workbench and started looking for the item amidst the junk piled there. Cara could still hear the dogfight in the skies above, but it was more distant than before. She said a prayer for Din to whatever deity or mystical energies that might be listening, _Come back to us_. 

“Found it,” Kuiil rasped.

“Give it here. Droid, you picking me up?”

“I hear you. Where is my master?”

“He’s here. He’s fine. Listen. Don’t tell me your position. I don’t want to risk this transmission being picked up by unfriendlies. Just tell me where the ships are.”

“The Mandalorian has repelled the other ship for the moment - he’s giving chase to the southeast.”

She switched off the comm for a moment, “What direction are the vaporators in?”

“West,” Kuiil answered.

“Good. Okay, you hear me, buddy? Stay out of sight and keep an eye out for the ships. We’re going to find some cover until Mando gets back. Stay sharp though, there might be other hostiles in the area.”

“We’re going to hide in C-7,” Kuiil added. 

_Smart,_ Cara thought. He gave the droid their destination without potentially alerting anyone else.

“I’m near that location, I can cover your approach,” the droid responded.

“Coming your way,” Cara responded. “Which way now?”

“Follow me,” the old engineer instructed, activating the repulsorlifts on the crate and leading her to a back entrance.

“Why are you bringing that crate?” she asked.

“It is essential to the plan that Mando detailed to me,” he replied, exiting the house and skirting around the back of the building toward a small barn.

“Yeah, well, I think the plan has probably changed at this point, since we’re being attacked right now!”

“We don’t know yet how this altercation will end. It’s best to be prepared for multiple eventualities.”

"But-"

"I have spoken," he interrupted, effectively ending the conversation.

He trotted from the house to the barn, slipping inside the building. Cara followed, Bean tucked under one arm and her blaster in the other hand. On the other side of the building was a livestock gate. It led to a long, narrow chute used for herding animals to a distant paddock. The lower section of the fence was covered in a metal skirt. If they kept very low, they might be able to pass this corridor unseen. But if they were spotted, they would be trapped in a small space. Deciding to take the risk, Cara crouched down and followed the chute to its end. The gate to the paddock was open, and they were now half-way to where the moisture vaporators stood tall in the distance, reaching their spires high to capture any humidity the atmosphere was harboring. 

“I see you,” IG-11 stated over the comm. “My sensors do not detect any obstacles in your path. The ships are currently out of sight.”

“Let’s make a break for it,” Cara said to Kuiil. “Hop on.”

“I will only slow you down.”

“I don’t know where I’m going, and you’ll be even slower on your own two feet. Now get on my back. _I_ have spoken.”

“Very well,” he conceded.

He awkwardly climbed onto her back where she crouched, his sturdy arms clinging to her neck. He was heavier than she had thought, but she didn’t have that far to run. 

“Which one are we aiming for?” she asked.

“The one on the left,” he replied, pointing over her shoulder. 

She bounced a little on her haunches and then took off with both Kuiil and Bean clinging to her. Once they were past the paddock, there was only open space between them and the vaporator. She considered running a zig-zag pattern to present a more difficult target, but there had been no sign that a second hunter was present. IG-11 was covering them, and she didn’t want to waste energy or time on extra movement. She needed to get them inside that cistern before the ships came back in sight. Pouring on as much speed as she could manage with her burden, she closed the distance quickly. 

“There, the hatch is right over there - do you see the metal plate in the ground?”

“I see it.”

She skidded to a halt in front of the access point, a simple hatch with a mechanical wheel instead of a keypad release. 

“Oh, I forgot the wrench!” cried Kuiil.

Cara handed him her blaster and took hold of the wheel, putting all her strength into twisting it loose. But weeks of sand and grit had seized up the mechanism, and it would not budge. She got on the other side and tried to kick it a few times, but she had even less leverage doing that. 

Snatching up the comm again, she said, “I need your help, buddy. I can’t get this thing open on my own without the tool.”

“I am on my way,” he announced. 

Cara attempted to use her blaster as a wrench, to no avail. Then she tried shooting the cover plate, but it did little more than scorch the surface. She spotted IG-11 loping toward them from the direction of the other vaporator. Keeping her blaster up, she scanned the area, searching for any signs of danger. The ships were both out of sight, but she could still hear them, the report of their laser cannons echoing off the rocky hills in the distance. She saw nothing, but she had the feeling they were being watched. Movement near the barn caught her attention. One of the blurrgs had gotten loose from its corral, and was sniffing around the edge of the barn. She watched it pick up its head and fixate on the chute that they had just come through. 

Suddenly, the beast charged the fence, bellowing a challenge to whatever it had spotted. Cara’s blood ran cold as a bright blue bolt of energy originated from a point opposite the animal, felling it only a few feet from the edge of the chute.

She aimed her blaster at that point and let loose a barrage of continuous fire. IG-11 appeared at her side a moment later, adding his own arsenal to hers. 

“Get the hatch open!” she bellowed. 

Kuiil had the child in his arms, shielding him with his body. The droid’s strength proved a match for the corroded wheel, and the mechanism gave way with an ear-splitting shriek of metal on metal. IG-11 lifted the hatch, finally giving them some much needed cover. As Kuiil crawled toward the opening with the child, Cara kept up her onslaught. She could not see her target; she only hoped she was keeping him pinned down enough that he could not return fire. 

A bolt of energy hit the hatch - but it had not originated from the location that Cara was firing at. The force of the blast dented the hatch and slammed it backwards and into IG-11’s torso, knocking him off his feet. He was sprawled across the access point to the cistern, preventing Kuiil was reaching the ladder. Cara adjusted her aim to the other side of the barn, returning fire. 

_Where are you, you bastard?_

Another shot.

Kuiil cried out in pain behind her. 

“NO!” Cara screamed. 

She still could not see him! It was as if the shots were coming out of thin air. She fired again and again at where she thought he was. 

“Go!” IG-11 urged. “Get down the ladder, I will cover you.”

The droid began firing at a point on the wall of the barn, ten feet to the right of where she had been aiming.

“You can see him?” she asked.

“He is using some sort of personal cloaking device, but my sensors can still detect the residual heat clinging to his weapon. Help Kuiil and the child!”

Cara ducked behind the droid’s lanky body and assessed the situation. Kuiil had been shot in the side. He was losing blood fast, and she knew he wouldn’t last long without help. Bean seemed uninjured, and Kuiil was still holding fast to him. She jumped onto the ladder and dragged them both down in front of her, resting Kuiil’s weight on her knees. 

“C’mon old-timer, hang in there,” she urged. 

Sweat ran into eyes as she worked her way down the ladder to the bottom of the cistern, fifteen feet below them. He had a proximity tether on that damn crate, so it followed them into the cistern, nearly dropping on her when it hovered over the opening. She lay Kuiil out on the floor, gently prying the baby from his arms and setting him off to the side. Above them, IG-11 was still firing at the hunter. Returning her attention to the Ugnaught, she lifted his shirt to assess the damage done to him. 

_Not good_ , she thought. The blast had seemed like it was less powerful than the one that had slammed into the hatch - indicating it was fired from a weapon that took time to fully charge - but it had caused a lot of damage, nonetheless. She tore material from the bottom of Kuiil’s tunic, pressing it to the injury to stanch the flow of blood. At her elbow, Bean gave a mournful little wail. 

“It’s okay, Bean. I’m not gonna let him die. Do you hear me, Ugnaught? You stay with me now.”

“Help is on the way,” IG-11 called down to them.

“Mando?” Cara asked, her voice a mixture of hope and desperation.

“It appears he has destroyed the enemy ship.”

If that was true, that meant that the bounty hunter in the barn was their only link to Gideon. 

“Don’t kill the one in the barn!” she shouted to him. “We need him alive.”

“My sensors indicate he is retreating.”

The sound of the _Razor Crest’s_ engines reverberated through the cistern as it landed above them. IG-11 descended the ladder and pulled Kuiil into his arms. 

“I will bring him. You take the child and get to the ship.”

She plucked Bean up and held him to her shoulder, climbing the ladder one handed. Once out, she drew her blaster and sprinted the short distance to the lowered rear ramp of the _Crest_. The droid, carrying the injured Ugnaught and the crate, followed close behind her.

“Mando!” she called up the ladder. “The other hunter was in the barn. IG-11 says he’s trying to bug out. Kuiil’s hurt bad though; he needs help. What do you want to do?”

“We get out of here for now. I disabled one of the engines on the other ship, but I didn’t destroy it. We need them alive, but I don’t want to engage them with no plan - especially if Kuiil needs to be fixed up.”

“Get us out of here then,” she said, clenching her fists. 

This was the second time they had been forced to run from these two and it was getting tiresome. She wanted to end this now, but she knew he was right. They needed to regroup and make a plan - not go off half-cocked and risk more injuries - or worse. The ship lifted off the ground and began making its ascent. She located the box of medical supplies that Riddick had given her, opening the lid and grabbing a handful of bacta packs. 

When she turned back to his body, she was surprised to see Bean hovering near Kuiil’s injured side. The Ugnaught’s breathing was labored and she knew if there was any chance of saving him, she would have to act fast. As she knelt down beside him, she began to move the kid out of the way, but stopped when she saw him stretch out his hand over the wound and close his eyes. 

“What is he doing?” IG-11 asked.

“I don’t know,” Cara admitted, but she risked a few precious moments to observe him.

Her eyes widened when she saw the flesh around the injury begin to close. Slowly, the bleeding stemmed and the charred skin healed shut. Bean’s face was taut with concentration, and his hand began to shake - but he did not falter until there was no longer any trace of a blaster wound. Kuiil’s breathing returned to normal and his hand went to his side, probing the unmarred flesh.

Cara caught Bean as he staggered backwards, closing his eyes. For a moment, she thought he was injured himself, but the steady rise and fall of his chest told he was only sleeping. Whatever he had done had left him exhausted, but unhurt. Accelerating momentum pressed its invisible hands against them for a moment, and Cara knew they had just made the jump to hyperspace. 

“Mando! Get down here!” she yelled.

He was already sliding down the ladder, lowering himself next to her.

“Is he okay?” he asked, pulling Bean into his arms. “I thought you said Kuiil had been shot.”

“I was,” the Ugnaught answered for himself, as he sat up with IG-11’s aid. “But this child healed me, and now he sleeps - just like before.”

Din looked at the exposed skin on Kuiil’s side - his blood-soaked clothing the only evidence of his injury. The baby slept peacefully in his arms, as if nothing miraculous had just happened. Cara knew a little about the Force, but she had never heard anything about it being used to heal the sick or dying. What manner of power did this child possess?

“What _are_ you?” Din asked the child, a note of wonder in his voice. 

But Bean just slept on - the only sounds in the hold the thrum of the engines and his soft little snores. 

  
  
  
  



	7. Improvising

“What _are_ you?” Din said, staring in awe at the tiny creature he held.

Cara was equally flummoxed. She helped Kuiil into a sitting position. She checked his vitals with a med scanner from the kit Riddick had given her. Not only was the old Ugnaught out of danger, his injuries were completely healed. She touched the place where his wound had been moments before; amazed to find no trace of its existence - not even the hint of a scar. It was as if Bean’s power had rejected the marred flesh, or turned back the hands of time. She couldn’t explain it. She couldn’t understand it. 

The use of his ability - or power, or sorcery - whatever they wanted to call it, had come at a price for the baby, though. He did not seem hurt and his breathing was deep and even, but he could not be aroused from his slumber. Cara left him for a moment with Din, and helped Kuiil onto the Mandalorian’s bunk. Physically, he was fine, but he seemed a little shaken. After asking him one more time if he was sure he felt alright, she left him under IG-11’s watchful guard, and joined Din where he sat on the floor, cradling the little one in his arms. Kneeling behind him, she draped one arm over his shoulder and smoothed Bean’s fuzzy hair down with her free hand.

“I guess we know why Gideon wants him so badly,” she commented.

“If he even knows he’s capable of this,” Din replied. “In all the time we’ve had him, he hasn’t displayed this kind of ability.”

“You’ve never seen him try to heal before?”

Din took a few moments, sifting through his memories, “Maybe. Once. The first night I had him, he may have been trying to heal a cut on my arm. He kept getting out of his pram and walking up to me with his arm out. But I eventually closed him in. I don’t know if that’s what he was trying to do, though.”

“Well, it’s a mystery,” she said, squeezing his shoulder, “but we’ve got a bigger problem.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“How did they find us so fast?” she asked the obvious question on everyone’s minds.

“Have you scanned this ship for homing beacons?” Kuill asked from where he sat on the bunk.

“No,” Din admitted, his voice self-reproachful. 

“When could they have even put one on us? We only met them on Lariva-VII and you were on the ship the whole time. The only other place we’ve been to since then was Coruscant.”

“But I wasn’t with the ship the whole time on Lariva-VII,” Din pointed out. “I left the docking bay for about fifteen minutes to have a look around the rest of the hangar.”

“Did you take Bean with you?”

“No, he was on the ship.”

“But if they had a tracking fob on him, wouldn’t they have just broken onto the ship and gotten him?”

“Maybe they didn’t have time. If they only discovered he was there after I left, they would have had a short window to find him and then break in - and even without the ground security protocols active, the _Razor_ isn’t easy to break into. If they saw me coming back, they might have just slapped the beacon on and took off after you.”

“Either way, we have to find that beacon as soon as we land and deactivate it, then jump to a new planet.”

“Perhaps you can use it to lure them into a confrontation on your own terms,” Kuiil suggested.

“How so?” Cara asked.

“We could disconnect the beacon and attach it to something else to confuse their tracking. If I can duplicate your little one’s chain code, I can confuse their tracking fobs. They will see two signals in two different locations, but only one of them will be coming from the same direction as the homing beacon. If we are lucky, they will assume that the signal coming from what they think is the ship is the real one.”

“How many times can you duplicate a chain code?” Cara asked.

“Theoretically, an infinite number of times. But I’ve never attempted to do such a thing. If I can accurately match his once, I should be able to do it again and again.”

“So what if we threw out a hundred chain codes on a hundred different planets? That sure would confuse their tracking.”

“If that could be done, chain codes would be rendered obsolete,” Din observed.

Cara winked at him, “Exactly.”

“Even if that is true, I won’t have time to duplicate the process that many times,” Kuill stated. “I will have, at most, the chance to make two or three.”

“Just stick with one for now - we don’t have the manpower to cover that many locations. One decoy, and let’s hope they both take the bait,” Din said.

“Even if they don’t, we can stick with the original plan. Deal with one at a time.”

“But if they both go after the ship--”

“IG-11 and Kuiil will be here with Bean - they can always call for help. And the _Razor_ itself will be protection enough to buy us time to come back and take them down.”

“What if they jamm our comms again?” Din asked.

“Then we’ll have to make sure our decoy location is close enough that we’ll be able to hear the _Razor’s_ canons. Where are we headed, anyway?”

“Phindar.”

Cara scooted around Din so that he could see the incredulous look on her face.

“ _Phindar_? That’s on the other side of the kriffing galaxy! It will take us days to get there.”

“Yep. Which will give us time to prepare what we need.”

“Do we have enough fuel in the tanks to get us there without a stop?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to have to eat light for the next few days, then. Our pantry is pretty bare.”

“I’ve still got some dry rations in one of the smaller storage compartments,” Din offered.

“Oh, how fortunate,” Cara replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

He shrugged, “Better than nothing.”

Kuiil scooted off the edge of the bunk and crossed the hold to where the crate with the pram materials lay on the floor. He began setting out the tools he had thrown into it and organized the pieces of scrap. He went over to a side panel on the ship and opened it, rummaging through the additional tools and hardware he discovered there. Cara quirked an eyebrow at his seeming familiarity with the ship, deducing that he must have helped Din repair it at some point when last they met.

“I’m going to need to strip some of your secondary components from the cockpit in order to build a transmitter that can project the duplicate chain code,” he informed Din. “I won’t take anything we’ll need and we should be able to replace them on Phindar.”

“That’s fine. You know what the _Razor_ is equipped with better than I do.”

“You see? Some good did come of the Jawas stripping her down to little more than slag.”

“Curb your optimism, old timer. _Nothing_ good came out of that. If they hadn’t scrapped my ship, I never would have had to kill that damn mudhorn, get my original armor destroyed, wasted all that time putting the ship back together--”

“Nor would you have discovered the child had power. He would have never had an opportunity to save your life, which is part of the reason you went back for him, is it not? We would not have built the relationship and trust that is between us, and so you probably would not have come back to me for help. I understand your animosity toward the scavengers, but their actions were the catalyst that set all this into motion.”

Din regarded him for a moment, then gave a small nod.

“Maybe,” he reluctantly admitted. “I never thought of it that way. But don’t expect me to ever thank them for stealing half my damn ship.”

Kuiil chuckled, “No, I imagine you wouldn’t. Speaking of which - was there any damage done when you engaged the other ship?”

“Just minor - nothing that can’t be easily repaired when we touch down.”

Kuiil gave a grunt, “ _I_ _f_ they give us the time."

“One way or another, this ends now - I’m through running from these bastards,” Din growled.

Cara smirked at him, enjoying the sound of the steel edging his voice. Din could extend a lot of patience, and was sometimes maddeningly nonchalant about life-threatening situations. But he seemed to be focused now; determined. Perhaps it was their close call that caused him to act so, or the fact that there was a plan firmly in place to confront their enemies. Either way, she thought he was damn sexy in that moment.

“What kind of terrain are we looking at on Phindar?” she asked, switching her brain over to tactical analysis mode. “I’m not familiar with the planet.”

“Tropical, mostly rainforest. We’re headed to a small city south of Laressa, the capital. It’s tucked up against the side of a dormant volcano. There’s a very small spaceport there, less than a dozen bays.”

“I like it. We’ll need to figure out our plan - and the plan B in case that one fails,” Cara said, settling down cross-legged on the cold steel floor in front of him and leaning forward, her elbows propped on her knees and fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Let’s get to it.”

* * *

Over the next two days, the small crew of the _Razor Crest_ became more comfortable with each other as they worked side by side, constructing what they needed for the plans they had laid. Kuiil finished creating the transmitter that duplicated Bean’s chain code. That took much longer to program that it took for him to construct the new pram, but in the end, it was successful. Cara and Din took inventory of their weapons and assets, organizing everything into two categories: supplies that went to the decoy site and supplies that remained with the actual ship. Kuiil reprogrammed IG-11 to be a nurse droid for the child, but he did not have much opportunity to practice his new skills. Bean had yet to recuperate after the exertion of saving Kuiil, and slept on. Still, the droid’s programming compelled him to check frequently on the child’s comfort. He would pick him up and hold him in different positions for a time to ensure he never stayed in one position too long. He even gave him a sponge bath as he slept and changed him into fresh clothes he had hand washed himself. 

The droid’s efforts had not gone unnoticed. Din had warmed up to him considerably, and was nearly amicable with him now. Cara knew that he was trying hard to get over his prejudice, and they had discussed his progress during the previous night cycle when he had availed himself of her bed for the second evening in a row. Din had surrendered his bunk to Kuiil, refusing to allow the old, arthritic Ugnaught to sleep on a hard pallet on the floor. Cara suspected Din was all too happy for the excuse to share a bed with her, and she sure as hell wasn’t complaining. 

Their routine was admittedly odd, given that Din was not ready to reveal himself to her, let alone to their other companions on the ship. He took his meals alone in her room, dressed in her room, washed up in her room - even shaved and cleaned his teeth in her room with a small basin of water. Giving him space to do the things that required disrobing was not particularly inconvenient for Cara - she was not the sort of person who sought alone time herself. But she also looked forward to the time designated for sleep, when Din would strip off most of his armor and slid into the bed next to her, his arms immediately wrapping around her and pulling her close. 

Despite the intimacy, they had both been very intentional to keep things relatively chaste between the two of them. Their waking hours were long, and by the time they were able to rest, they were both stumbling toward the bed in exhaustion. Cara made no efforts to rush Din into anything, content to fall asleep with him at her back. She had found the Mandalorian to be extremely - _cuddly_ \- for lack of a better word. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, given his near complete deprivation of physical contact. He preferred to sleep with one arm under her neck and the other wrapped snugly around her waist. At first, she had a difficult time falling asleep with her movement so restricted. She was used to sprawling in her sleep, not being relegated to a straight-jacket consisting of a pair of firmly muscled arms. Sometimes, he even threw a leg over her knees in his sleep (as if she were some sort of oversized body pillow) which _really_ hampered her ability to move. She pushed down her discomfort and reminded herself that he needed this, badly. It wasn’t all that terrible. She relished how comfortable he was becoming with her, and she did feel secure enfolded in his embrace - if not a little claustrophobic.

When they weren’t occupied with fine tuning the details of their plan, Din took the opportunity to share details of another kind - mostly pertaining to his time with The Tribe. Just as Cara had spoken to him of her family on Alderaan and the guys on her strike team whom she had been closest to, he revealed the people who meant the most to him. The list was short, but before long, Cara almost felt as if she had a much better understanding of his Mandalorian companions. When she asked about his life before hiding with the Covert - in the years when the Empire had taken over Mandalore and then purged their people - he had grown quiet. He had told her that it was one of the darkest chapters of his life. Though he promised to reveal all in time, he asked if she would wait to hear those stories until after they had completed the mission at hand. She sensed there was another reason he seemed reluctant to tell her about it, besides just wanting to focus on the pending confrontation, but she did not press him. She trusted him to tell her when he was ready.

Though the gravity of what they had to do next was weighing on them; Din, Cara, and even Kuiil, were calm and focused. For Din, the only thing that mattered was making the galaxy a safer place for the small child he had assumed responsibility of. The bounty hunters and Gideon were simply obstacles that needed to be eliminated. Though he was certainly sparing some thought to what lay beyond that point, his attention was mostly on the problem in front of him.

Cara saw it from more of a military perspective. Though she was just as emotionally attached to Bean as Din was, this was just another op, pure and simple. There were multiple objectives, and several missions would need to be successfully executed in order to achieve their goals. The bounty hunters needed to be caught and interrogated - they were the best lead to Gideon. Once they got the intel they needed from them, they were expendable. Next, they would need to coordinate with Riddick and their other allies and stage the confrontation with Gideon himself. Once that threat was neutralized, she could shift her focus to what mattered most to her - her future with Din and their baby. There was a potential obstacle to be had there as well - the Mandalorian Covert. But if she got that far alive, she was confident that nothing could stand in her way of making a life with them. 

She was one of the last surviving Alderaanians. She was a shock trooper; a dropper. She was a _rebel_. She would not be denied this. Whatever she needed to do - whatever oaths she needed to take, whatever trials she needed to pass, whatever training she needed to complete, whatever creed she needed to adopt - she would do whatever it took to hold on to what she had found here.

But first, they had to bag some bounty hunters.

“Ten minutes until we drop out of hyperspace,” Din called down the ladder from the cockpit. 

Cara took a deep breath and ran a mental check through her tasks one last time. _When we touch down on Phindar, scan the area around site A for incoming vessels while Kuiil and Din sweep the hull for a homing beacon. Once beacon is located and extracted - assuming there is one - accompany Din, the beacon, and the pram with the decoy chain code to site B. Establish a perimeter. Set up opposite Din so both hunters will be caught in the crossfire. Set weapons to stun. Wait. Incapacitate their prey. Extract intel._

She then ran a physical check of all her gear and weapons. Everything was ready. She took one last look at the child, still sleeping peacefully on Din’s old bunk. 

_With any luck, little one, by the time you wake up tonight or tomorrow, you’ll be one step closer to freedom._

IG-11 observed her from the other side of the hold. Though his personality was as mild-mannered as ever, his new programming as a nurse droid had made him more attentive to the moods and behavioral cues of those around him. 

“You do not seem concerned about the upcoming confrontation,” he observed. “You appear to be more at ease now than when I first saw you.”

“I know where I’m going, I know who I’m fighting, and I know what I’m supposed to do. For the first time in a long time - maybe ever - I don’t have a single solitary qualm about the details or the politics behind the mission. I’m fighting for my family,” she said, baring her teeth at him in a fierce grin. “Losing this one is not an option.”

“You consider this child to be your own?” the droid asked.

She shrugged, “It sounds weird to me too. But yeah, I do. I belong with the Mandalorian and the baby. I guess even grumpy gramps over there and you - Assassin NannyButler - are part of that too.”

“I am not an assassin,” he protested.

“Yeah? What would you do if one of those hunters broke into this ship and tried to hurt that kid over there?”

“I would kill them,” he said matter-of-factly.

She raised both her eyebrows at him pointedly.

“That’s not assassination. I am programmed to respond to threats, not preempt violence.”

“Okay, fine. _Guardian_ NannyButler. How does that sound?”

“I prefer to be addressed as IG-11.”

“I wasn’t giving you a new name, I was trying to describe your role in the family.”

“I see. And what is your role?”

She laughed, and rubbed the back of her neck, “Well, I guess I’m ‘mama’ by default. Though I hardly fit that descriptor.”

“How so?”

“I’m not really all that domestic. I enjoy bar fights more than doing laundry and cooking.”

“Likely, there are few individuals who truly find those tasks enjoyable. Nor do I believe that your propensity to fight is diametrically opposed to the label of ‘mother’. In many animal species across the galaxy, the females are lauded as more dangerous when protecting their young or their family. Few males fight to the death for territory or dominance, but mothers will not hesitate to kill whatever they perceive as a threat. Likewise, in sentient species, I believe mothers to be just as fierce as fathers in this regard. I take it, the Mandalorian is ‘father’ in this family?”

“Yep. And Kuiil is--”

“ _Not_ anyone’s ‘gramps’, thank you,” the Ugnaught interjected.

He had been tuning up the carbonite condenser, and threw Cara a warning look over his shoulder as he tossed his spanner into a toolbox. She raised her hands in a placating gesture.

“Okay, okay. You can just be our resident sage technician, does that sound better?”

“Not really,” he groused. 

“Enigmatic engineer?”

“I admire your use of alliteration, but no.”

“Master Mechanic.”

“No.”

“Grumpy Gramps it is, then.”

He was about to protest further when Din’s voice interrupted, “Hang on. Dropping out in 10...9…”

Cara moved over to the bunk and put a steadying hand on Bean, just in case the deceleration caused him to roll off the bed.

“3...2...1.”

The ship shuddered slightly as it emerged into real space, banking to the left to make its swift descent to Phindar’s surface. Cara scaled the ladder and slide into the copilot’s chair a little behind Din’s. He acknowledged her with a nod and set their approach vector.

“Is everything ready?” he asked.

“Affirmative. Weapons checked. Ammo cases packed. Equipment loaded on the repulsor-pallets. Everyone knows their jobs. Baby’s still sleeping. Everything is good. How about you - are you ready?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything. We’ve planned for every scenario.”

“Well, except for a scenario where we lose.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said firmly, and she could tell he believed every word of it - as did she.

“I know,” she replied, equally confident. “That’s why we don’t have a Plan G. Because no way Plans A through F are gonna fail.”

“I need to say this, Cara,” he began, turning his head to look at her. “I wouldn’t be going into this situation feeling half so confident if it wasn’t for your strategic planning skills. Everything we came up with, you countered with a ‘what if’ that we had to think of a solution to. You saw the things I would have totally missed.”

She blushed and looked at her hands, “Well it wasn’t just me. Kuiil pointed out some flaws too.”

“Yeah, he did. But you were the one who found a way around all those flaws.”

“There are still a lot of variables, but I think we are as prepared for them as we can be. We make a good team,” she said, simply. “Even the Ugnaught and the droid.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I guess we do.”

As Din navigated past a large fueling station orbiting the planet, she appraised the surface below. The mottled greens and blues visible beneath the circulating cloud cover began to take shape as they descended, revealing a tapestry of dense vegetation and rainforest. As the trees took shape, Cara’s breath caught at the sight of a myriad of brilliant hues speckling the highest boughs. Giant flowers raised their faces to the sky, drinking in the light of the sun denied to the foliage closer to the forest floor. The _Razor Crest_ dipped low to conceal their approach, less than twenty meters above the treetops. Flocks of startled tropical birds took wing, splashing the landscape in a riot of color. The only break in the trees of this area were fingers of muddy blue rivers that snaked their way through the jungle. 

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Mmm,” Din acknowledged. “It is. It’s deadly too. There’s a lot of things in those jungles that can kill someone - the animals, the plants...even the bugs. The locals usually travel by river if they don’t have ships.”

The shadows lengthened as they sped east, the sun sinking toward the horizon behind them. Din pointed to a break in the trees at the foot of a forested mountain in the distance.

“That’s where we’re headed. Braega.”

“When’s the last time you were here?”

“Two years ago, chasing a target who was particularly hard to catch. I got to know this area pretty well as a result.”

“Let’s hope the spaceport hasn’t been updated since the last time you were here.”

“I doubt it. The Phindians are a cautious lot - they don’t tend to make any kind of changes unless they’ve deliberated all the possible ramifications for months or years. Besides, there’s not a lot of money coming in or out of this town.”

Cara noted a section of forest in the distance where the trees seemed much shorter than the others surrounding it.

“Huh. I didn’t think rainforests usually burned down,” she commented.

Din followed her gaze, “It didn’t burn. At least, not naturally. It was levelled when a Star Destroyer crashed to the surface during the civil war between the Empire and the Rebellion. The wreckage was removed, but the trees are still growing back. It’s amazing how fast jungles recover though - those trees were a lot smaller last time I was here.”

“So even this place has seen some action?”

“Yeah, a bit. That station we passed on the way in was attacked by Separatists twice during the Clone Wars. Death Watch did a bit of mopping up, but that was while I was still being trained, so I didn’t join them. There was just one battle here in recent history, though.”

“I believe I remember hearing something about it, but there were a lot of skirmishes all over the galaxy at that time. It was impossible to keep up with all of them.”

“Phindar is not really a high value target. There’s less than half a billion people on the planet, and the main export is tech. It’s sold here cheaper than a lot of other places, but you get what you pay for.”

“That’s probably why the Rebellion fought for it - cheap, unreliable tech was sort of a staple for an army with no money.”

Din snorted, “I bet.”

The comm chimed as the ground controller on the planet hailed them.

“You want to chat with the nice people down there?” he asked. 

“Why not?”

He opened a comm channel with the tower at the flight hanger and Cara cleared her throat and chose the first name that popped into her head as her false identity, “This is Captain Antilles of the modified gunship, _Ramshorn._ Requesting permission to land.”

A somewhat nasally voice sounded over the crackly comm, “What are you carrying, _Ramshorn_?”

Cara replied, “Light cargo, a few empty fuel canisters.”

“Fueling station is in orbit, not on the ground, Captain. It’s the big metal thing rotating around the planet,” the nasally voice drawled.

Cara’s patience was already waning.

“I’m aware of that. I also need to restock my food supplies. Is your port at capacity?” she ground out between clenched teeth.

“Not at all - eight of our ten docking bays are empty.”

“So, can I land or not?”

“Why not? Bay seven is less wet than the others.”

“Wonderful. Thank you very much,” she switched off the comm, “You snippy little ass. What the hell was that about?”

“The Phindians are a bit sarcastic and tend to dance around the point a bit. It drives me crazy, I can’t deal with them.”

“You could have warned me. I thought you said that were cautious people.”

“They are. Sarcasm is sort of a shield they put up when they speak with others. You speak sarcasm fluently - so I figured you’d be fine.”

“Thanks, but I’m not used to bantering with a fragging ground control agent. And you still could have given me some kind of head’s up.”

“I could have. But where’s the fun in that?” he asked, and she could hear the mischievousness in his tone.

“Okay pal - if that’s how you’re gonna be - you can sleep on the floor tonight,” she teased, slapping him on the arm.

“You sure? You’re not going to miss cuddling with me?”

“Am I going to miss trying to fall asleep in the coils of a Myrkr constrictor disguised as a Mandalorian? Let me think about that,” she made a show of deliberating.

Din cocked his head to the side as he made his final descent into the docking bay, “You dislike it when I hold you?”

His tone was serious, and it almost sounded hurt. Cara backpedaled. 

“No! I was just teasing. I mean, yeah, it’s sometimes a little hard getting used to sharing a bed and someone else’s sleep habits, but I don’t hate it or anything.”

“You don’t hate it, but that doesn’t mean that you enjoy it either,” he pointed out.

“I enjoy being in your arms. But I also enjoy being able to move around a little when I sleep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that it made you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“Because, you were so sweet and...snuggly. I didn’t want to disappoint you,” she said, regretting that she had said anything at all. _And this is why he wanted me to deal with the traffic controller - he takes things too personally._

“You could have been honest.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t that big of a deal. If it was, I _would_ have said something.”

The ship touched down and Din turned to face her, “I want you to feel like you can be totally truthful with me. I don’t want either of us to get into the habit of compromising what we like just to appease the other.”

Cara reached across and touched his arm, “Din. That’s what happens in every relationship. We don’t get our way all the time. Yes, I like to be able to move around in my sleep. But right now, you _need_ to be able to share physical contact with others. You crave it. What you are doing doesn’t hurt me. I'm not really claustrophobic, so it doesn’t make me feel panicked or nervous. I would rather deny myself a preferred sleeping habit than make you give me more space when we share a bed. Besides, I’m getting used to it and I’d probably miss it if you retreated now. Compromise it healthy. It takes the focus off ourselves and puts the other person in the relationship first. If you can’t compromise on little things, you’ll never be able to make a relationship last.”

“You should have at least told me.”

“Yeah, but then you would be afraid to touch me at all when we’re in bed, or worse - you would stop sleeping with me altogether.”

He leaned forward and touched his head to hers, “Not likely.”

She smiled, “Fine. So now you know. But don’t stop holding me, okay?”

“Maybe we can find a position that keeps us close, but is less restrictive of your movement,” he suggested. 

“Okay. So...can I be the one to cuddle up to your ass tonight?”

He sniffed in amusement, “Consider it all yours.”

“Careful, I might get carried away with an offer like that,” she warned in a suggestive tone. “Now, don’t you have a homing beacon to find?”

He let out a barely audible groan under the helmet, and Cara bit her lip as she stared at her own distorted reflection in his visor.

“Keep an eye on the scanners for incoming ships. I’ll call you when we’re set,” he sighed, pulling his head away and standing up. 

She watched him leave, resisting the urge to drag him back by his cape and... _What? Hug him? Kiss his visor?_

Every passing day made it more and more difficult to contain her feelings for him. He was revealing more of himself all the time, but her thirst was never quenched. She wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to listen to his voice at every chance. She wanted to _see_ him so badly, she was half crazed in anticipation. It was becoming more difficult to honor his wishes to keep his face concealed. She would wait for him, she had agreed to do so and she wouldn’t go back on that - but it was agonizing. At times, she thought she could almost see his face in her dreams, but she always woke up and forgot what he looked like. She knew he had dark hair and eyes. She knew that his complexion was darker than hers. In certain light, she could catch a glimpse of his silhouetted profile through his visor. He had a strong chin, but that was all she knew of his face. It wasn’t nearly enough.

She needed to know the exact shade of his eyes. Were they almost black? Deep brown? Reddish brown? Dark hazel? Was his hair black, dark brown, chestnut, a touch of auburn? Had he shaved recently or just trimmed his beard? What would he taste like on her lips? Would he enjoy a slow, exploratory kiss, or would he give into passion immediately? What else would she discover about his likes and dislikes when their relationship finally turned the page of physical intimacy? These thoughts continued to dance around inside her head, popping into her consciousness at the most inopportune moments.

But she could not entertain them right now; she had a job to do. 

She kept her eyes on the scanners, occasionally re-positioning the dish to coax a longer ranged signal from it. But it picked up no incoming ships. Cara wondered how long it might take the bounty hunters to catch up to them. The hyperdrive on the _Razor_ wasn’t particularly fast, so it was possible for them to close the distance. Still, even with a homing beacon, it should be impossible to track them through hyperspace. She also knew the technology to track a ship travelling at lightspeed was being developed, and might even be in its experimental stages already to those with the right credits. They _had_ made it to Arvala in an incredibly short amount of time. Perhaps they had already been in the vicinity when they arrived, though.

IG-11 called up the ladder, interrupting her thoughts.

“Master Kuiil wishes to know if you have seen anything of interest on the scanners.”

“Nothing,” she replied. "If I do, I'm not going to keep it to myself."

“They have located the homing beacon and are ready for phase two.”

“Okay, c’mon up here and take my place.”

The lanky droid awkwardly ascended the ladder and folded himself into Din’s chair. Cara got up and began to move past him, then paused, “Hey NannyButler. I’m counting on you to keep the kid and gramps safe.”

He rotated his optics toward her without moving the rest of his body, a creepy habit that she was just beginning to grow accustomed to.

“You have my word that I will do everything in my power to ensure their survival.”

“I know you will, buddy.”

She winked at him before shimmying down the rungs, pausing to take one last look at Bean. He was going to be starving when he woke up, she thought to herself. She smiled at his peaceful face and bent to plant a kiss on his wrinkly little forehead.

“This is almost over,” she promised him in a soft whisper. “Then we can start a new life together after this. All of us.”

Cara grabbed her favorite repeating blaster rifle in Din’s arsenal and slung it over her shoulder. Then she fired up the repulsor pads on one of the fuel cells that Riddick had given them and pushed it down the back ramp. Kuiil stood at the bottom waiting for her; the pram he had made for the baby floating beside him, empty. He punched a few buttons on his wrist pad and disengaged it from his control. 

“I managed to boost the signal on this,” he said, holding up the device that had mirrored Bean’s chain code. Any tracking fob that is locked onto the little one’s signal should default to it, but I’ve not had a chance to test how a fob will react to two separate signals.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Cara said. “Thanks for everything you’ve done to help us. We couldn’t have even attempted to pull this plan off without you.”

Kuiil glanced up the ramp toward where the child slept, “Until the old ways are no more, beings like him will never be safe. I owe him my life, besides.”

“Make sure you activate the ground security protocols as soon as we are out of the hanger. We’ll lock the door behind us to make sure no locals wander in.”

“I understand.”

She cast one more lingering look in the baby’s direction, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach at the thought of leaving him.

“Don’t worry, Cara Dune. The child will be safe. He will be waiting for you when you return.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I _k_ _now_ ,” she said more firmly, as if she was willing herself to believe it with all her heart. 

“Take care of Mando,” Kuiil added. 

She smiled, “No worries on that account.”

Kuill looked up at her with dark eyes, his heavily jowled face softening marginally, “You two have something special. Don’t lose it.”

She stretched her smile into a wider grin, “I don’t intend to. Seeya when we get back, gramps.”

She slaved the controls of the pram to her own wrist pad and led it and the fuel canister away from the ship. Catching Din’s attention where he stood about fifteen feet away, surveying the hull for further damage, she asked, “Did you get everything you needed from the ship and take care of things with the custodian?” 

He nodded and she tossed over her shoulder to Kuiil, “Lock it down.”

Kuiil closed the ramp and waited for them to exit the bay and lock the door before initiating the security features of the _Razor Crest_. Nothing was getting in the ship. Nothing.

Cara and Din stepped out of the air conditioned bay and into the fading light of dusk. The air was heavy with humidity - the kind of heat that made sweat bead up on your forehead almost instantly. It was like being in a sauna. The hangar was located on the eastern edge of the town, a few blocks from the town square. There were several parts shops and trading posts close by, but they were all closed for the night. The only thing that looked open was a little diner across the street. There were only a handful of people on the streets and none of them were paying attention to Cara and Din.

Reluctant to attract anyone’s regard, they kept to the shadows. Din kept close to the buildings and Cara tried to block him from view as much as possible. The fuel canister and the pram floated along with them as they made their way toward the back of the parts shops. Sliding down a small alley, they emerged on the far end of the hangar. The hangar was shaped like a wide U, with two large bays bookending eight smaller, shorter bays. The main entrances of all ten faced the streets. Cara and Din made their way all the way to the back of the hangar, stopping in the space between the oversized bays. The area was paved and there were some storage containers stacked around, but otherwise, the tarmac was open. 

They were directly behind bay seven, where the _Razor Crest_ was parked. One of the unique features of this little town’s spaceport was the retractable roofing over the bays. Din explained that during monsoon season, the rain fell so hard and so fast that the drainage couldn’t keep up. Docking bays were enclosed on all sides to keep ships relatively safe from theft, but they usually had open roofs for quick take-off and landing. On Phindar, the rains would fill the docking bays up like swimming pools, were it not for the pitched roofs that directed the flooding away from the building. Some water still got in, as evidenced by the puddles of standing water that still remained in bay seven, but the roofs performed their function of flood prevention. They had taken advantage of this amenity and closed the roof when they landed, preventing anyone from recognizing the _Razor_ from above. Bays one and four were also occupied with their roofs closed, so it only served to further their ruse. It would be a shell game now. The hunters would have to guess which bay held their quarry, and they would be getting conflicting signals.

Why don’t you leave the fuel over there by that stack of crates,” Din suggested, pointing to a cluster of bins near the exterior wall of bay one. 

“I was just thinking that,” she said. “It shouldn’t be noticeable like this, but it will draw attention away from our bay if we set it off. Bonus, it’s near the back door in case they try to use that one as an entry point.”

“Mmhmm. Did you set the charges?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll take the decoy pram and the homing beacon up on the roof with me. What do you think is the best spot? Bay one?"

“Yeah, it’s furthest from seven, plus the longer roof gives us a better vantage point to catch them in a crossfire if they come back around this way.”

“I’m going to climb up and plant this, then,” he said, palming the homing beacon. We can switch places in a couple hours.”

“They better get here quick. This humidity is going to make me sluggish.”

“Find your spot and rest, I’ll make sure you’re awake before they get close.”

“Don’t forget this,” she said, giving control of the pram to him.

“Hey,” he called, when she started to move away. “You set your blasters for stun, right?”

“My pistol, yeah. The rifle isn’t though.”

“Fine, just don’t accidentally kill them.”

“Stop worrying. This isn’t my first mission, sweetheart. I know which weapons are armed for killing and which ones are armed for incapacitating. Besides, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of interrogating that bastard who shot me - it wouldn’t be any fun if I killed him right off.”

Din chuckled, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Just go get your ass up on that roof and plant those decoys - this will all be for nothing if they get here and we’re still standing around holding them.”

He dipped his chin and strode across the pavement, using an ascension pulley on his gauntlet to ascend to the roof. Cara stayed nearer the ground, climbing on top of a few crates situated next to bay eight. It gave her good sightlines across the clearing, but also better cover than Din had on the roof. She kept her pistol holstered and propped her rifle up next to her. The scope would come in handy when the ship - or ships - came in. It would be to their advantage if the hunters came in separately, but she highly doubted they would be so confident. 

She and Din had been caught almost completely off guard on Arvala-7, and they had still managed to turn that situation around, if only by the skin of their teeth. Fett and his accomplice would have to suspect that they were on to them by now, and proceed with more caution. That was one of the reasons they decided to stage the trap right here at the spaceport. The jungle was too dense to land anywhere else in the surrounding area. If they chose another place to set down, they’d have to travel for miles through the monster-infested rainforest to close in on Din and Cara. They would have to land right here, next to the _Razor._ If the plan worked, they wouldn’t know which bay the ship was in and they’d either split up, or be drawn to the wrong location. They had set up behind the hangar, anticipating the hunters would try the back doors first, rather than risk making a scene out front. If they acted otherwise, it would only take moments to scramble to the other side of the building. In either case, Din and Cara would be waiting for them. As long as their presence was not detected before their enemy landed, they had two advantages: surprise and the high ground. 

Despite the warmth, Cara was too on edge to rest. Luckily, not twenty minutes had passed before her commlink chirped.

Holding it close to her mouth, she whispered, “What’s happening, guys?”

IG-11’s steady voice answered, “We have picked up two ships on the scanners that have just dropped out of hyperspace. They have both bypassed the fueling station and are heading to the surface.”

“Can you project their flightpath yet?”

“There is an 84% chance they will land in our sector, but given our proximity to the capital, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s our hunters.”

“We’ll know soon enough. Let’s go comms silent, just as a precaution. Once they’re close enough to get a read on, hail me twice for a confirmed target. We’ll have visual ourselves right after that, so it will just give us a few seconds heads up.”

“Affirmative.”

The comm went quiet and Cara felt the familiar thrill of danger creeping up her neck. She retreated deeper into the shadows from her vantage point and raised her rifle to the sky. Within a few minutes, she could make out the distant lights of two small personal craft. She peered through the scope to get a better look, but the lights around the hangar were inhibiting the effectiveness of her night vision lens.

Her comm chirped once, twice. _It's them._

She waited for them to get close enough to be seen clearly with the naked eye. One she recognized instantly as the ship that had attacked the _Razor._ The other must belong to the second bounty hunter. She dragged the moist, heavy night air into her lungs. _Here we go._

The ships came into full view as they descended over the city. The smaller of the two was a _Pursuer_ -class enforcement ship, a patrol craft not unlike the _Razor Crest_ . The second was a _Lancer_ -class pursuit craft, a favorite of smugglers and bounty hunters. She thought it curious that their pursuers had chosen the _Pursuer_ instead of the _Lancer_ to engage the _Razor Crest_ on Arvala-7, but she was grateful. The _Crest_ was evenly matched with the former, but it would have been a much harder fight if she had to go up against the latter. 

The _Lancer_ docked in bay two, while the _Pursuer_ landed next to the _Razor_ in bay six. It was a smart play. Their sensors would indicate that the homing beacon was transmitting from bay one, one of the larger bays on the end of the port. But, depending on what kind of readings their tracking fobs were giving them, it might seem that the baby was in bay one and bay seven simultaneously. They could keep all the bays covered from where they were. They both chose to close the rain roofs as well.

 _Shame. It would have been like shooting fish in a barrel if they had left those open_ , Cara thought to herself. _Oh well._

Now she rather wished she had gone up on the roof with Din. She could have crossed over and covered the front of the building while he covered the back. It was too late to change her position now, though. All the bays were equipped with back doors that opened up onto the tarmac that she was currently occupying. She and Din had taken the long way around so they could scope out the surroundings, but Fett and his partner could walk out into her line of fire at any moment. She lay her rifle down in front of her within easy reach and drew her blaster, checking one more time to make sure it was set to stun. 

She slowed her breathing so she could catch the smallest sounds around her. The jungle behind them was alive with a chorus of night sounds - insects, birds, amphibians, and larger beasts all lending their voices to the cacophony. Cara kept her focus on the doors, though - waiting, watching, and listening. 

The minutes dragged on. Nothing. She was tempted to try to raise Din on the comm, but squashed the impulse. Way too risky with Fett so close. He could easily be listening in on them. She waited a little longer. She glanced up at the roof. No movement that she could see, but there were some shadows cast by a few tall vents that were built next to the retractable roofs. They were large enough to conceal a man. She stared hard into the shadow next to the vent above bay six. Was that movement? If either of the hunters were up there, they would be able to see her where she crouched on top of the crate. She had positioned herself to be hidden from the doors at the back of the hangar, not sheltered from an attack from above. 

The hairs on the back of her neck were standing at attention - a sense of danger so insistent, it was practically ringing in her ears. She needed to move.

Now.

She grabbed the rifle and rolled backwards off the edge of the crate she was perched on, just as a blaster bolt struck the metal surface she had been on a fraction of a second before. Sparks bloomed around her, but they fizzled out harmlessly in the humid night air. She dropped to the ground on the other side of the crates. The shot had come from the direction she had suspected - bay six. She didn’t have any way of knowing for certain which hunter she was dealing with, but something told her it was Fett. She suspected that the one who had shot at them back at the cistern on the moisture farm had been the lanky fellow with the horns. Which meant that it had been Fett fighting with Din in the air, and the ship he had tangled with was the one parked in bay six. 

She had nothing to go on besides gut instinct, but she had learned to trust in her own intuition a long time ago. If it was Fett, he had ample time and space to use the features of his armor from up there; which meant that these shipping crates were not going to cover her for long. But if she was going to make a break for it, she needed some cover fire. 

Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the side of the vent her attacker was hiding behind erupted in a hail of continuous fire, as Din peppered the brick with blaster bolts.

 _Those are not stun blasts,_ Cara thought to herself. _But he didn’t use the disrupter rifle either, which would have made short work of the structure._

She scrambled out from behind the crates and ran to her right, from storage container to storage container, making her way across the tarmac to get closer to the building. Her attention was divided between the roof and the back doors. She would have to sacrifice the advantage of crossfire and hug the back of the building to be unseen by the one on the roof. He would have to step out of cover and stand on the edge of the building to hit her, and if he did, Din would stun his ass. Cara would have no cover from where she was, but she would be able to see all the doors and fire on anyone stepping out before they saw her. That was the upside. The downside was she was terribly close to that fuel container now. If Fett saw it, he could target it and she would probably get caught in the blast. Luckily, it was fairly well concealed by the crates she had left it next to. She hoped so, anyway.

The blaster fire abruptly stopped, and an eerie calm settled over them. The animals had stopped their calls, Cara realized. Though the insects kept up their serenade, the jungle had grown considerably more quiet since the firefight began.

“Clever move with the chain code signal, Mando,” an accented voice called from the far end of the roof, shattering the stillness. “I can’t for the life of me figure out how you managed to duplicate it. That kind of ability could put a real hurt on the bounty hunting business.”

“Yeah. We’d have to go back to doing things the old fashioned way - looking around and asking questions,” Din replied. “It wouldn’t matter as much what kind of arsenal you had, but how smart you were. But you’ve been around a while, haven’t you, Fett? You remember what it was like before tracking fobs.”

Fett let out a short laugh, “Don’t act like I’m an old relic here. I’m a couple years older than you, if that - _Din Djarin_. Men in our line of work don’t tend to live long, unless they’re really good at what they do, so I know you’ve got some skills. But I was raised by the best in the business.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Fett. I was raised by _actual_ Mandalorians.”

“Oh yes. And where are they all now? Dead and gone.”

“Same as your _father_ ,” Din replied, adding enough sarcasm to the word to indicate that he knew Boba was Jango’s clone.

The hunter’s voice took on a bitter edge when he shot back, “At least my father died honorably, fighting the Jedi - not cowering in front of some rusty battle droids, pleading for his life.”

Cara listened with bated breath for Din’s reply, hoping he wouldn’t succumb to the taunt. This conversation was surprising to her. Though she knew there was a natural enmity between these men, given the nature of their circumstances, this was getting extremely personal for two people who had never even met each other before. From everything she had heard about Boba Fett, he had always been professional. It didn’t seem in keeping with his reputation that he would be so talkative. Unless…

“He’s stalling,” she whispered in her comm to Din, taking the chance that Fett was eavesdropping.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, imposter. If you think you can bait me into doing something impulsive, you’re going to be disappointed,” Din replied. 

To her, he whispered back, “I know. The other one must be trying to figure out which bay the _Razor_ is in, and Fett’s just buying time.”

“Oh we know your ship is in bay seven,” Fett’s voice broke into the conversation, as if he had been standing right next to them as they spoke it.

_So he was listening, the wily bastard._

“But don’t bother running in to stop him now,” he continued. “His specialty is infiltration - he can breach any safe, building, fortress, prison, or ship he comes across. They are like puzzles to him, but he has a knack for solving them in minutes. The man’s a genius. He’s already aboard your ship or making off with the kid by now.”

“Din?” Cara left the question unfinished.

“Go,” he said, after a moment. “Be careful.”

It could be a trap, Cara knew. It might be a ploy to get her to reveal which bay the _Crest_ was really in. The second hunter could be nearby with that damned invisibility shield waiting to shoot her as soon as she opened the door. But she couldn’t take the chance that Fett was telling the truth. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be smart about it. The only door she had the access code to was bay seven. But if she walked in there and the other hunter had _not_ somehow breached the ship, the ground security protocols would kick in and she would be blasted to pieces. She didn’t have the firepower to bust through any of the other doors. And if she tried to go back around the outside of the building, Fett could shoot her without ever breaking cover. She needed a way to get to the front of the hangar without going around, over, or through bay seven. She needed another door.

 _There is no other door, Cara!”_ she told herself.

_Unless you make one._

The skeleton of a risky plan forming in her mind, she began running along the back of the hangar, toward the spot where Fett lurked above. She put the minimum amount of safe distance she could between her and bay one. Crouching down behind a small container that wouldn’t provide much cover if this next part didn’t work, she slung the rifle off her shoulder. She set it to its highest power output and took aim at the fuel canister. This had not been how they planned to use it, but at this point, it was better to improvise.

“Get down!” she warned Din - then fired.

The explosion shook the very foundations of the hangar, blowing an opening in the outer wall of the elongated bay. Before the bits of rock and debris had even finished falling, she raced toward the opening and ducked inside. She hoped the blast hadn’t compromised too much of the roof where Din was standing, or she might have just put him in worse danger than he had been in. 

She ducked behind a repair terminal and activated her comm. She had to know - “You good?”

“Yeah,” he answered. 

Crossing the length of the bay - its only occupant a small passenger liner - she made it to the front door. All these doors locked from the inside, so there was no trouble stepping through to the front of the building. She had expected a crowd to be gathered in front of the hangar, drawn by the sounds of gunfire and the explosion, but the scene before her was quite the opposite. The street in front of the doorway was completely deserted. The interior lights from the diner that had been busy earlier were all turned off, even though the sign in the front window read “open”. No sound of sirens to be heard. No shouts of concerned citizens; they were all in hiding.

Cara forced herself to be grateful. After all, it just meant that there would be no one to interfere when they took these two hunters - and maybe their ships for good measure. She kept close to the building and stepped around the corner to her left. The _Lancer_ had parked in bay two, so she needed to be careful crossing in front of this one. The door was closed and locked, however. She crept forward, approaching the entrance to bay seven. She debated just raising Kuill on the comm. All it would take was one word from him and she would know if Fett was telling the truth or not. But it would also confirm their location if Fett was monitoring the signal source. 

She couldn’t just wander in the front door of bay seven any more than she could the back door without knowing if the ground security protocols were operating or not. She came to the entrance of bay six. A quick glance at the keypad revealed it too was locked. She glanced over her shoulder at bay two, but detected no movement....not that she would see any if he was cloaked. Shouldering her rifle and drawing her blaster, still set to stun, she stopped at bay seven’s door. The door was shut, but a green light indicated it was unlocked. 

He was inside. Which meant that he must have breached the ship. Unless he was cloaked and that prevented the _Razor Crest_ from detecting him. She couldn’t walk in without knowing. If he already knew they were in there, it didn’t matter if she commed in to Kuiil. Besides, Fett might not even be monitoring this signal.

Raising the communicator to her mouth she switched to his frequency, “Kuiil, you there?”

“We are,” came the Ugnaught’s gravelly reply. “What’s going on out there? We felt that explosion, but there’s been no more gunfire.”

“Don’t worry about us, we’re fine. Just tell me - are the security protocols still engaged?”

“Yes. Why?”

“The other hunter - the one who shot you before - he’s _in_ the docking bay with you.”

“He couldn’t be. The ship would have detected him.”

“It’s just like on the planet - he’s got some kind of personal cloaking device that masks his appearance and his heat signature.”

“How do you know he’s in here?”

“The door is unlocked.”

“But if he came in through the door, the ship would have detected the opening of the door and fired. It’s set to target any movement, not just heat signatures.”

“Damn, you’re right. So how did he get in without opening the door? Come to think of it - how did Fett get on the roof without us seeing him?”

She pondered for a moment, taking a sweep of her surroundings.

“The vents,” she said, suddenly. “Fett must have climbed up through the vent on bay six. The other one might have done the same and crossed over to our bay while cloaked, so Din couldn’t see him. Then he could have shimmied down ours the same way he crawled up.”

“There’s another possibility,” IG-11’s voice chimed in. “He might have sliced the lock from the outside, but then remained on the other side of the door - where you are. If he anticipated us setting a trap around the ship, he might have waited for you to disarm it so you could approach yourself.”

As the droid detailed his hypothesis, Cara felt the familiar tingle in the back of her head again. IG-11 was right - he wasn’t in there with them, he was out here with her. But where? There was not a whole lot of cover out here; not that he needed it if he could make himself invisible. He couldn’t cloak his weapon though, could he? On Arvala-7, he had still stayed behind cover. It could have been just to protect himself from random fire, but maybe it was because the cloak wasn’t one hundred percent effective at covering everything. In which case he still needed shadows. There - the alley across the street.

She looked around so as not to give the impression she knew where he was, and replied into the comm for the benefit of any eavesdropping, “Could be. But we still have to consider that he’s inside the bay. Look around and see if you can detect anything out of place. A shadow, a disturbance of an object, ripples in the water on the floor, light being bent in a strange way, anything…”

As she was saying this, she ducked behind a metal trash bin that was sitting to her left, cutting her off from the alley’s view. She counted five seconds, then began to rise to her haunches and peer around the bin.

“Guessed wrong,” a voice behind her sneered.

Before she could react, something hard slammed into the back of her skull, giving a light metallic ring as it connected with the bone. She didn’t even have time to regret her failure before the black of oblivion enveloped her vision and dragged her down into its fathomless depths.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I did another cliffhanger. I'm sorry.
> 
> So, this chapter was a long time in coming and I do apologize for the wait. Besides being very busy this last month with lots of family visiting from out of state, a conference where I myself was out of state, homeschooling my five-year-old, and some huge work deadlines breathing down my neck...I also decided to sit down and really map out where I am going with this story. 
> 
> I have decided to write this as a three part trilogy, which could be read as one novel with three acts, or three novelettes in a series...take your pick. Part I is drawing to a close in the next chapter. I will have an epilogue that will set up the beginning of part II, as well as a preview of the next installment. I will also add a timeline for you all to get a good idea of the progression of events from Din's birth to the events of this story. 
> 
> Over the last few weeks, I sat down and plotted out Din's entire backstory, blending what we know from The Mandalorian with other canon content from The Clone Wars and Rebels, and adding my own explanations and headcanon for how his life took shape. This led me to make some small alterations to three of my previous chapters:  
> 1) Din knew Boba was a clone  
> 2) Din's oath to keep his face and name hidden was made for a different reason than I had originally stated (more on that in Part II)  
> 3) Cara was 24 years old when Alderaan was destroyed, not 19 (this was not really because of the plot - I simply realized I had made her too young to line up with Gina Carano's actual age, and I think it was better to have her 6 years younger than Din, as opposed to 11 years younger). 
> 
> All this took quite a bit of time to think through. Then I had to re-read all my other chapters and edit them before I could finish and post this chapter. It was quite a process, and I apologize again for the wait. But I am committed to delivering a well thought out story with as few plot holes and inconsistencies as possible. That said, now that I've worked out the kinks, this last chapter should take a lot less time to write...even though it will most definitely be lengthy. We are finally about to reach the moment that I dreamt of - the one that sparked this entire story - and I am most excited to finally put it to paper. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all for your support and patience. Love you guys!


	8. Revelations

Someone was speaking. That was the first thing Cara was aware of as she slowly regained consciousness. Her head was swimming, causing the voice to sound muffled and far away, almost as if she were underwater. She brought her senses into focus one at a time. Hearing first: she needed to know what was being said, for it was sure to be important. From where she was lying on the ground, she could tell the voice was coming from behind her.

“Why don’t I just kill her now?”, a low, masculine voice asked.

“No,” someone answered in a tone that silenced further dissent. 

She recognized the second speaker as Fett; and from the slight static interference marring his voice, he was speaking to the first man over a commlink.

“It was a good idea to take her away. I know this guy - he won’t go anywhere without her. But he’s also not going to just blindly stumble into the trap you set for him either. He’ll have a plan.”

“But he doesn’t know where she is. The only lead he has is the location I gave him - so he’ll go there first.”

“Maybe. But he’s still going to suspect a trap. Look, the kid’s on the ship with the Ugnaught and assassin droid. We can’t get close to that ship with its ground security features. If we try to break in, they’ll just take off before we get close.”

 _That’s concerning_ , Cara thought, as she resisted the urge to clench her fists. Her hands were bound behind her back, and she had lost most of the feeling in her fingers. 

Apparently, Fett and his partner knew all about their allies. It shouldn't surprise her - the second hunter had seen Kuiil and IG-11 on Arvala-7, maybe even witnessed them get on the ship. Or perhaps he just put two and two together if he heard her talking to them outside the docking bay door before he jumped her. In either case, they knew more than they should. 

“Without Djarin and the dropper?” the second hunter questioned.

“Protecting that kid is priority number one for the Mandalorian. He’ll send him away to keep him safe before he compromises their safety.”

“If that’s true, then there’s no way he’ll go for a prisoner exchange.”

Fett snorted, “Of course not.”

“So _why_ am I keeping this bitch alive?”

“Because even if he does send the kid away, he’ll still be trapped on this planet. We can kill him and Dune and then pick up the kid’s trail again when we’re done. Djarin is going to end up wherever she is. He’ll try to get the drop on you, but I should be able to get to him before he locates you. In any case, he’ll be much easier to control if he knows she’s alive, so for now - let’s keep her that way.”

Cara tried to check her body for injury without moving anything. Apart from her aching skull, nothing else was really hurting her too much. She was _really_ tired of getting knocked in the head though. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end up with some long-term brain damage. 

“Are you going to try and take him out on route?”

“If he’s stupid enough to give me a clean shot.”

“I’m only asking because I _thought_ you had him pinned down back there on the roof.”

“We were at a stalemate. Something stopped him from pummeling my cover with that disrupter rifle of his, and I don’t know what. He seems to want to keep me alive for some reason. When you sent me the message saying you had taken Dune, I decided it was best to bring him into an area we had staged ourselves. They had time to prepare the hangar - who knows what other surprises they had rigged that place with? I still can’t believe she detonated that fuel cell so close to him.”

“Yeah, well - I’ve got _her_ , but now _he’s_ got access to our ships. What if he feels like blowing up some more walls? I don’t really like being all the way out here and him all the way back there with the _Windlance_.”

“He won’t risk her safety to try and breach our ships now. He will only go after them if she is safe and we are dead.”

“You act like you’re in this guy’s head.”

“I _am_ ,” Fett replied. “I told you, I’ve spent enough time with him to figure him out. Family is what’s important to him. His only thought right now is to save her, and he’s probably half frantic trying to figure out a way to get to her.”

_Spent enough time with him? He’s got to mean that he’s spent enough time trailing him._

“Yeah, but it was years ago when you met him - people change.”

_What? Din said he had never met Fett. Did he lie about that?_

Cara refused to believe that. Din wasn’t perfect, but he was honest. And why would he lie about something like that anyway - knowing Fett was on their trail? He would never withhold information that would help keep them safe. 

_Only one explanation made sense: this guy really isn’t Fett at all, he’s just playing the part. An impostor._

“Trust me, Krychek. He won’t leave his woman. Now stay put and wait for me to contact you.”

Cara mulled over everything she had just heard, trying to decide how to play this out. She should probably maintain the facade that she was unconscious for a bit longer - no need to let him know she had been listening in on his conversation with Fett. Give it ten more minutes, then make a show of coming to. She kept her breathing slow and even - every limb perfectly slack. 

_Okay, so Bean and the others are still on the ship. Din and Fett somehow got separated. Din must have gone back to the bay and found me missing. He probably tried to raise me on the commlink, and then the ass who jumped me told him that he had taken me. He must have told Din that he took me someplace other than where I actually am though...of course. But Din still has his binary beacon, so he knows I’m not where this guy said I was. What did Fett call him - Krychek? Din will know that they’re trying to lure him into a trap._

_He’ll either assume that Fett or Krychek are waiting for him at the fake location, or he’ll suspect that one of them will tail him to see where he goes. Hopefully the latter. Krychek mentioned something about a prisoner exchange. That must have been the plan; exchange the kid for me or else they’ll kill me. Or something like that, anyway. Dumbasses. Well, Fett’s not a dumbass, because he knew Din wouldn’t go for it._

_Except it’s not Fett. Who is he really? How did he get Fett’s armor? Could he actually be Fett and maybe Din met him without knowing it was him? Did the real Boba Fett ever take his helmet off? Focus on what you already know, Cara - none of that matters right now because it’s not going to help this current situation._

_Din knows where I am. He’s coming for me. I don’t know what his plan is going to be - all I can do is trust him. And give him as much time as I can. Maybe I should just pretend to stay unconscious until he gets here._

_What the hell? I’m not a damsel in distress just waiting for my man to come and save me! I’m a kriffing shock trooper. Okay, here’s the plan: Wait a little bit. Wake up. Get the lay of the surroundings. See if there’s something I can use to get out of this. I just gotta be smart about it, that’s all._

Cara waited for a few more minutes, then she slowly stretched her body out, allowing a soft moan of pain to escape her lips. _Better for me if he thinks I’m in worse shape than I am._ She opened her eyes for the first time, blinking a few times to get her sight adjusted to the dim lighting. She was lying on pavement; a block wall rising up in front of her face a few feet away. There was nothing else of worth to see from this position, so she slowly rolled her body over to her other side. Open sky stretched out above her, dark and dotted with the light of a million stars; but the sounds of the jungle seemed much more distant than before. If she had to venture a guess, she would say she was someplace near the center of the town. 

From what she could see, she was in some sort of courtyard. It appeared as if the buildings around her were some sort of shops or small businesses - but, curiously, it appeared as if she was in back of them. There was only one entrance into the area, large enough for freight carts to be pulled into. 

_Some sort of loading zone, maybe? That’s ironic. Krychek’s choice of staging areas is rather similar to Din’s._

There were several crates and empty pallets stacked nearby. About three meters to her left was a large cold storage chest, most likely intended to keep food items refrigerated until they could be stocked inside the shop. It might provide sturdy cover in case this dissolved into a firefight. A cursory glance around the perimeter confirmed that there was nothing else of use, much less anything in the way of tools that could be brought to bear as weapons. 

Leaning on a pile of pallets was Krychek, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He was watching her with a feral grin splitting his features, revealing his yellowed teeth. On closer inspection, they were sharper than normal, filed to points the way that Twi-lek males often did. The horns protruding from his bald head suggested he was a Zabrak, but she had never seen any of that species without a tattooed face. His visage was unmarked, save for a hairline scar splitting his right eyebrow. His spear was slung across his back, but she could see no sign of whatever armor or cloaking device he had used on Arvala-7.

“How’s the head, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Ringing,” she replied.

He chuckled, “I bet.”

“Where are we?” 

“Not anywhere near the hangar,” was all he would say, not that she was expecting a straight answer.

She nodded, exaggerating a painful wince, and sucking air in between her teeth with a hiss, “I figured. So what’s your game? You trying to bait Mando with me?”

“More or less. I told him that I’d trade you for the kid, but we both know he won’t go for that.”

She gave a rueful laugh, “No shit. That idiot gave up his home, his career, his entire fragging reputation for that kid. You think he’s going to just hand him over for some dropper he allows to tag along with him?”

Krychek’s grin hitched up even higher, “Good try - but I’m quite aware that you mean more to him than mere baggage. Just because he’s not going to bring the kid to trade, doesn’t mean that he’s going to leave you here to die. Nah, he’ll come for you. And when he does, I’ll kill him. And then I’m gonna kill you. Next, I’ll hunt down that little baby you’re so attached to and kill him too.”

Cara pressed her mouth into a firm line and glared at him, “I was under the impression your boss wanted the kid alive.”

“He has plans to run some experiments on him first, but the plan was always to kill him eventually. They just need his DNA, and he doesn’t have to be alive for that. All they need is a piece of him,” he said, pinching his thumb and forefinger together to indicate it was a small piece.

Cara’s blood ran cold. These people were sick. Whatever it took, she wasn’t leaving this planet without killing this bastard and his partner. She knew they would have to capture them first to find out where Gideon was, but after that...they were dead. They just didn’t know it yet.

She summoned a small, dangerous smile onto her lips, “I don’t think this is going to end the way you think it will.”

“Says the woman tied up on the ground,” he laughed at her, then pushed off the pallets and sauntered over to her. 

He dropped to his haunches, well enough away from her that she couldn’t reach him fast enough to gain an advantage. 

_He might not be as much of a dumbass as I assumed,_ she admitted, begrudgingly. _He knows enough to be cautious._

She locked her gaze on him, startled by the exotic color of his eyes. Around his pupils was a ring of bright yellow, but that color deepened into a vibrant amethyst, ending in a bit of dark blue near the outer edges. If he wasn’t such a loathsome creature, she would have thought him nearly beautiful, apart from his teeth. He ran those lovely eyes over her from top to bottom, lingering over the parts of her that he found pleasing. 

“Maybe I won’t kill you right away,” he suggested. “Maybe we could have a bit of fun, first.”

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and rolled her eyes, as if his words were a mere annoyance, “Yeah, _that’s_ gonna happen.”

He grinned at her once more, “Oh, I have a feeling I could entertain you just as much as you would entertain me.”

“Try it. I’ll entertain your head right off your shoulders.”

He laughed, “I’m sorry, I forgot. Your taste runs more to men who like to run around in armor. Perhaps Fett would be more your type.”

“I don’t think he’d have me after I handed his ass back to him on Lariva-VII.”

“Ah yes. Truly, I lost a bit of respect for him when I witnessed that fight. He was supposed to be this legendary figure, yet if it wasn’t for me, he would have been beaten by a woman.”

“He would have been beaten by an elite special forces shock trooper with years of battle experience - his reputation could probably survive that.”

“His reputation was for his ability to deliver to his clients. If it had not been for me, you would have ended him there.”

“So why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

“Partly because Fett wanted you alive. But also because it was difficult to get a clean shot with the two of you moving so much. I didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of hitting him by accident.”

“Why did you break off when I got to the hangar?”

“Fett didn’t want your boyfriend to know who it was that was after you yet. He might have been more cautious about checking his hull for homing beacons if he knew it was Fett on your tail.”

“Did you follow us from Lariva-VII?”

“To Coruscant? Yeah. Interesting choice going to a New Republic intelligence officer. That was quite a gamble. I don’t know why he didn’t turn you in for the reward on your head, but whatever he owed you, I wouldn’t hold my breath for a chance to collect.”

Cara narrowed her eyes at him and asked through clenched teeth, “What did you do?”

“Don’t worry, he’s not dead. His roof has a brand new skylight though.”

She swallowed a sigh of relief, then asked, “I don’t get it - if you knew we were there, why didn’t you come after us?”

“We ran into some security clearance issues - or rather, I did. My ship was flagged for inspection. By the time we got out of all that, it was morning and there was no time to come up with a good infiltration plan. When you took off, Fett followed you and I stayed behind to find out who your contact was. I was able to eavesdrop on an outgoing communication that revealed his name and position. The plan was to blow up his entire house with him in it, but he had some sort of safety measures on his roof that redirected my torpedoes. They detonated too far above the house to cause much damage and I had to take off before I could finish the job.”

“What a pity for you.”

He shrugged, “No big loss there.”

“Are you kidding me? You just tried to kill a NRI agent. The heat is going to be all over you now.”

He snorted, “The New Republic is stretched too thin to devote resources to go after a bounty hunter who took a pot shot at one of their agents. We aren’t part of the Guild, so they can’t get our credentials either.”

Cara laughed as she thought of something, “Except we told Riddick who was after us. He knew you and Fett were tracking us. Riddick knows who was on our tail and where we were going. The New Republic may be stretched thin, but if they have two names and a location on the asshats who tried to kill an NRI agent in broad daylight _on Coruscant_ , they’ll send someone. They’re probably on their way right now.”

The perpetual smirk on his face faltered, “Don’t waste your time lying to me.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Krychek,” she chanced to reveal his name to add weight to her words.

“How do you know my name?”

“Riddick has a lot of friends in low places - he was familiar with your description. There aren’t too many Zabraks with uninked faces.”

“Even if he knew who I was, how would he know you were on Phindar?”

“Because we contacted him on a closed channel before we made the jump. Look, slim, like it or not - they’re coming for you.”

All of this was an outrageous lie, of course. But if she played her cards right, it might get the hunters frazzled enough to get sloppy. Or...they might outright panic and just cut their losses by killing her and leaving Din for another day. But she doubted it. Fett wanted to kill Din, she could hear it in his voice. It was personal for him. He didn’t want to leave this planet with either of them alive any more than she did. At the moment, she was a necessary tool to make Din easier to handle. 

The commlink on Krychek’s belt crackled, and he whipped it out of his belt, “Have you reached a decision, my friend?”

“I’ll meet you,” Din’s voice announced, and it sounded so clear that Cara could almost imagine that he was standing next to her. 

“With the kid?” Krychek prompted.

There was a long silence before Din finally choked out, “Yes.”

His voice was so full of emotion, Cara almost believed him herself. He was a surprisingly good actor.

“One condition,” he added. “Let me speak with Cara.”

“Fine,” the Zabrak agreed. “A moment.”

He silenced the comm and turned to her, baring his fearsome teeth, “Keep your comments restricted to your physical condition. If you try to give him any information that will give him an edge, I’ll kill you as soon as he’s not listening.”

She nodded her head, “Agreed.” _He already knows where I am, you piece of slag. All he needs to know is if I’m alive, and you’re giving him that information freely._

Krychek re-established the connection and held the commlink near her mouth, “Go ahead.”

“Mando,” she said, allowing a bit of emotion to creep into her voice.

“Hey. You okayxx?”

“My hands are a bit numb from the bindings, but apart from that and a lump on my head, I’m fine. Now you need to listen - I’m not worth coming after. Just take the kid and leave me.”

The back of Krychek’s hand flashed out almost before she registered the movement, and certainly before her brain told her to dodge. It connected with her jaw and the corner of her lip with a crack. But Cara was used to being hit in the face, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of a cry of pain. Instead, she glared back at him with a challenging sneer on her bloody mouth. 

“Cara!” Din hissed out over the comm.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t hit her hard enough to do any real damage,” Krychek responded. “But if you want her to last the hour, I suggest you come quickly with the kid. She hasn’t been awake for a full half hour yet, but she’s already working on my last nerve. I’m afraid patience isn’t one of my virtues.”

When he answered, Din’s voice was eerily calm and quiet, “If you want to be breathing come the morning, I strongly suggest you keep your hands off her. I’ll give you what you want, but only if she’s alive and well when I come for her.”

“Best get moving then.”

“Try to keep cool, Cara,” Din added.

Krychek switched off her comm and produced his own from a side pocket on his pants, “Where are you?”

No response from Fett came across the channel. He cursed and tried again, with the same result. While he checked the power cell on the device, Cara ran Din’s last words through her brain. _“Try to keep cool”. Did he mean that she needed to try to keep_ her _cool (as in her temper) or that she literally needed to keep cool - as in her temperature? What did that have to do with anything? It was hot here, but she wasn’t feverish. And even if she was, he wouldn’t know that because he was far away. Or was he?_ Her eyes darted to the refrigeration unit and it clicked. 

_He can see me! He’s here! He wants me to get in the box!_

“Damn it, Fett - answer the commlink! Why would that fool turn it off now?!” Krychek seethed.

Cara slowly sat up, folding her legs to one side of her as she began stretching and clenching her fingers over and over, to try and work feeling back into her extremities. Krychek turned his attention back to her, raising an eyebrow at her new position.

“Don’t even think about trying anything - you wouldn’t get half a step before I ended you.”

“The only thing I’m trying to do is get some feeling back in my fingers, and I can’t do that while I’m lying down. Besides, why would I try to escape now that I know he’s coming for me?”

“Because you don’t want him to trade the kid for you.”

“We both know he’s not going to bring the kid,” she shot back.

“I thought that too, but he sounded pretty broken.”

“You’re a fool if you think he’s going to bring that kid to you. Did you really tell him where we are?”

Krychek smirked, “No.”

“I didn’t think so. Fett’s going to try and get the drop on him, right?”

“Did you put all that together on your own, or were you awake when I talked to Fett?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out. It’s what I would have done. Give him a false location and then ambush him there. He’s not stupid though. Fett may be lying in wait for him, but he’s not just going to blunder in without casing it first. He’ll know it’s a trap and he’ll find Fett.”

“Except Fett wasn’t waiting for him at the false location. He was tracking him from the hangar.”

“If he was tracking him from the hangar, don’t you think he would have killed him by now? I noticed Fett’s not answering the comm. What are you willing to bet that my Mando has already fragged yours? And now he’s coming for you. The only question now is - does he wait for backup from the New Republic - or does he just fry you right here?”

“He doesn’t know where we are!”

“Not yet, but it won’t take him long. He’s good at finding people.”

Krychek spun on his heel and began pacing like a caged animal, trying to raise Fett on the comm one more time. Still static. Cara scanned her surroundings, trying to see where Din might be. 

_Is he inside already? Doubtful. He’s waiting for me to take cover. He can’t light this place up unless he knows I’m safe. Still, it would be nice if he would give me some sort of distraction in order to get into the refrigeration unit before antsy-pants over here shoots me._

“Listen, while you’re figuring stuff out - I gotta piss,” she announced.

“Go ahead.” 

“What? In my pants?”

“Well I ain’t taking those binders off you.”

“Of course not, but can I at least have some privacy?”

She stood up slowly and walked over to the cooling box, “Mind if I squat behind this thing?”

He stopped his pacing to watch her, eyes narrowed, “Come here.”

Trying not to display any signs of discomfort, Cara approached him slowly. He produced an electromagnetic harness from a pocket and secured the belt around her waist. She was familiar with the technology, though she used them more for cageless brawling where she could earn a few credits for winning a fight. This one was different from what she was used to, however. There was no tap-out button on the end he had secured to her. Once activated, the chain would keep her tethered to him until he decided to release her - or until she killed him and released herself. 

This was not good. She was used to fighting on the end of a lead, but with her hands still in the binders, she had no hope of winning against a Zabrak male. Worse, she couldn’t climb into the refrigeration unit and shut the door if that thing was on. She needed to do something before he secured the other end to himself. The belt was in his hand now and he was about to buckle it. With a twist of her hips, her foot lashed out and connected solidly with the outside of his knee. It buckled against the blow and he let out a howl of pain. She followed it immediately with another strike at his head. It connected as well, sending him sprawling. She bolted for the cooling chest and turned her back to it, blindly feeling for the latch with her bound hands.

Krychek was recovering quickly, already rising to his feet. _Damn Zabraks and their hard heads._ The expression he fixed on her was enough to make her stomach bottom out. _Dammit! Where is this kriffing release?!_

Movement from the entrance drew her attention. Din! He was trying to get in a position where he could get a bead on Krychek. She couldn’t get the latch opened in time, so she turned and vaulted over the top of the box, ducking down behind it. Krychek must have realized what she was doing, because a half a second later when the report of the disrupter rifle split the air around them, she heard his body hit the ground with a grunt and then the sound of him scrambling for cover. There should have been nothing left of him but the smell of burning carbon particles.

Knowing that Din would keep firing until Krychek was dust, she rolled to her feet and dashed for a pile of containers to her left, trying to put distance in between her and where Krychek was hidden. Din switched the rifle mode to laser fire so he wouldn’t have to wait to reload his limited cartridges. He was steadily working his way to his right, around the circumference of the circular loading yard. There were more crates and pallets that they could take cover behind, as they tried to reach each other, but there was a sizeable gap in one section. Din would need to kill Krychek before either one of them attempted to run across that space.

She thought that the lanky hunter would be trying to work his way opposite, but he held his position near that refrigeration unit. A moment later, she saw why.

“Fett!” she bellowed.

Din ducked down as a rocket dart overshot him and blew a small crater in the building behind him. Without much cover in her direction, he backtracked to a pile of heavy cargo containers, his armor absorbing the impact of at least two blaster bolts before he sank down behind them. Cara wasn’t sure what to do. Behind her lay Krychek; before her lay a stretch of open ground that she had little hope of traversing without being shot down. She could go back and try to take out the Zabrak, but she needed to get the binders off first. Her wrists were bound too tight to squeeze her arms underneath her to get them in front. Din might have something she could use to cut through them, but she wasn’t sure how he would get it to her.

He was pinned down from two sides now. She was alarmed to realize that the trajectory of the fire coming from Krychek was closer now. He was trying to slink closer to her. At this point, she was sure he would just shoot her if the opportunity presented itself. Din wouldn’t be able to cover her from where he was. A tingling sensation around her middle drew her regard downward. 

_No!_

Cara looked down in horror as the electromagnetic harness activated. The tether stretched past her and around the edge of a stack of pallets, where Krychek was undoubtedly waiting for her. The harness went taught, pulling her toward him. Unable to grab it with her hands, she threw all her weight opposite, straining against the lead like a draft animal. She dug her heels into the cement ground, but it was no use. Krychek was slender, but he was strong. He drew her in like a harpooned gooberfish. 

Realizing that it was useless to resist him and that he was about to kill her, she switched tactics. If this was going to be her end, she wasn’t going to go down scraping her boots on the ground in terror. She dug her heels in once more, using the tension on the harness to draw her to her feet. When she was nearly vertical, she leaned forward and charged around the edge of the pallets. Caught off guard, Krychek didn’t have much time to react as she dove for him, slamming her shoulder into his stomach. His spear, which he had set down to pull her in with both hands, went skittering across the ground as the two of them went down together in a heap. 

With her hands bound, her legs were about the only chance she had of overpowering him. As soon as they hit the floor, she twisted around and lashed out at his head. Though he was flat on his back, this time he was prepared for the strike. He blocked her kick with his forearm, then hooked her calf with the same arm. Twisting to her right shoulder, she freed her left leg and aimed a second kick at his chin. But the strike was blind, and she missed her mark. He released her right calf and caught her left leg, using her own momentum to flip her completely onto her stomach. The tether was beneath her, running from her belt, between her legs, and up to his waist. He used this to his advantage, using his weight to keep her pinned to the ground as he kept the lead short. As he rose up, the line dug painfully into the muscle of her inner thigh.

Before she could twist away from him, his knee landed squarely between her shoulders, and all his weight bore down on her. She could barely draw breath, let alone cry out in pain. She heard the scrape of metal on concrete, then something sharp dug into her side - enough to hurt, but not to penetrate her flesh. 

“Are you done?” he rasped. 

_He’s not going to kill me outright? Why? Doesn’t matter, Cara - he’s got you dead to rights. Play for time._

“Yeah, I’m done,” she bit out.

Keeping the sharp thing - his spear, she presumed - pressed into her ribs, he got up slowly. He used his free hand to grab a fistful of her hair and haul her to her feet. Using her head and the point of the spear to press her forward, he pushed her out from cover.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS, MANDO!”

The sound of blaster fire abruptly halted, leaving the night air eerily quiet, save for the faint sounds of the jungle in the distance. 

“Or else I’m gonna put some new holes in your woman. I said, _drop your weapons_.”

“Don’t do it!” she shouted, hissing in pain when he jerked her head back.

“Come out, and drop them!”

“Alright!” Din shouted back. “Alright.”

He stepped out from behind the containers and threw the disrupter rifle and his blaster on the ground, far enough away from him that the two bounty hunters would be somewhat at ease. He kept his hands open, holding them slightly away from his sides. Cara felt her heart sink. _Why, Din? You know they’re just going to kill us anyway. Why surrender like this?_ She had to believe he had some sort of plan. It wasn’t like him to just give up. 

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve done all day, Djarin,” Fett called out from the roof. He activated his jetpack and descended into the middle of the courtyard. “I can’t help but notice you didn’t bring the kid as instructed. Not that I’m surprised.”

“You knew I wouldn’t,” Din replied. “He’s safe now.”

“Let me guess. You sent him with the Ugnaught and the assassin droid to Riddick on Coruscant.”

If Din was surprised by Fett’s knowledge, his body language didn’t betray it.

“Like I said...safe.”

“C’mon Fett, let’s just kill them and be done with it,” Krychek urged.

“For once, I agree with you, Yom,” he raised his blaster and took aim at Din.

“Din!” Cara cried, struggling against Krychek’s grip on her.

Fett regarded her, then returned his focus to the Mandalorian across from him. Abruptly, he lowered his blaster and took a few steps closer, stopping about ten feet away from Din.

“But it would be a shame to kill you without telling you the whole truth.”

Krychek made a sound of disgust in his throat, but did nothing apart from digging the spear a little deeper into Cara’s side.

“What are you talking about?” Din prompted.

“You’re not aware of this, but we’ve actually met before,” Fett explained. “I wasn’t wearing this armor, and I didn’t go by the name Boba Fett at the time, though.”

“And when did this meeting supposedly take place?”

“Oh, about three years ago. You came across me when you were on a job at Ord Mantell. I introduced myself as Alric Rook.”

 _That_ elicited a noticeable response from Din. Cara watched every muscle in his body go rigid, his hands clenching where he had dropped them to his sides. 

“ _You_ are Alric Rook?”

“Alric Rook doesn’t exist. He’s simply an alias that I came up with years ago, for times when it was necessary to keep a low profile. I had just finished a job when you found me. This was what...six years after the Purge?”

“Seven.”

“Hmm. You were still desperately looking for survivors. So much so, you never even stopped to really verify my story. You hung on to every word I said about just wanting to find a home and a clan to belong to. And then you took me right back to Nevarro with you and introduced me to The Tribe. Then off you went to work another job, leaving me with all those refugees. That big guy - one of the Vizslas - was a bit more shrewd than you were, though. He kept nagging me with questions about my past. I had entertained the idea of actually joining your little Covert. But the longer I stayed, I realized it was only a matter of time before I would be found out. So I told them the underground life wasn’t for me and left before they could get too suspicious.”

“Get to the point, Fett. You took this job for Gideon…” Din’s voice sounded as if it was so tight, he couldn’t squeeze the rest of the sentence past his throat.

“Patience, I was getting there. Gideon was less than thrilled with the last Mandalorian his client hired, so he required a little extra convincing to trust me. I gave him the location of the Covert and in exchange, he gave me the job to track down his asset and the people who took it.”

“You bastard,” Din seemed as though he was ready to spring at Fett, but he kept himself in check.

“Easy now, Djarin - it’s just business.”

“Save it. People used to say you had a code, but I always knew you were just a low life hunter. You gave up innocent refugees to the Empire! For what?!”

“For a chance to balance the scales!” Fett snapped. “Do you even know what you’re protecting? What it is? What it can do?”

Din’s only response was to stare at the other man from a cold, featureless, mask - a cleaner reflection of Fett’s.

“That thing is a monster,” Fett continued. “It’s race was part of one of the most despicable religious groups ever conceived. They called themselves the Jedi. They claimed to be ‘guardians of peace and justice’, but they dealt death and judgment on their own whims.”

“Unlike you?” Din countered.

“I’m a hunter, not an assassin.”

“Please. I was Nameless before I became a hunter - the only difference between the two is that hunters are occasionally asked to bring their prey in breathing.”

Cara’s eyes widened. _Din was Nameless before he was a bounty hunter? Nameless was what Mandalorians called their most elite operators. During the reign of the Empire, the group’s primary function was as assassins._

“You of all people should understand why that thing has to die. The Jedi were at war with Mandalore for centuries. The entire reason Mandalorians developed their armor and elite fighting techniques was so that they could compete with the power that the Jedi wielded. You’ve seen the creature do things that are inexplicable - I’m sure you have. Imagine what could happen if that power was unleashed on the galaxy?”

“Look, I’m not an expert on the Jedi or the Force or any of those hokey religions. But I’m aware that the Empire had their own sorcerers - like Vader, right? And I also know that Gideon is obsessed with their religion. You claim to have a vendetta against the Jedi, but you don’t care that you’re helping out a guy who supported the same kind of thing?”

“Yes, Vader had powers - I saw them firsthand myself many years ago. But Vader didn’t murder my father in front of me. The Jedi did.”

“Vader murdered plenty of fathers in his lifetime. Was the kid there the day Jango was killed?”

“No.”

“Then your revenge is misplaced. Stop trying to justify what you’ve done. You’re trying to kill a child who is guilty of nothing more than being born with special abilities. Meanwhile, you’re taking a contract with someone who serves those with the same powers. And you sold out my people, who - according to you - fought against the very Jedi you claim to hate. Cut the shit and be straight with me, you’re out for yourself and you always have been. You’re alone and you’re bitter. This isn’t business - it’s a vendetta. So don’t try to convince me that you’re doing this for the good of the galaxy. You’ve never cared about that. You have no people. You have no code. You have no honor.”

“Do us all a favor and stop spewing that elitist drivel,” Fett spat, taking a couple steps toward Din. “What makes you think you’re more worthy to wear that armor than I am? Huh? You weren’t born to it any more than I was.”

“You don’t get it. No one is born to it, not even those who are raised in the great houses of Mandalore. We are a creed, not a race. Anyone can be adopted into the Mandalorian culture. Anyone can undergo the training. Anyone can swear to the Creed once they’ve come of age. I wasn’t born on Mandalore, but I was raised by true Mandalorians. I was taught and trained by true Mandalorians. I swore an oath and left my old identity behind to be counted among those who follow the Way. I am loyal to something apart from myself. Can you say the same? Who did you train with?”

“My father.”

“Your father was not a Mandalorian. You are not even his son, you’re just the first of thousands of clones bred for one purpose - to help the Emperor enslave the galaxy.”

Fett closed the distance between them and stood a foot from Din’s face, raising his chin high to make up for the inches that Din topped him by. 

“My father was the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy. He trained hard and earned the right to wear that armor, just the same as any other Mandalorian. His skill was so legendary, he alone was selected as the genetic source for the entire clone army. Not one of your precious ‘true’ Mandalorians. Jango Fett. The oaths you swear do not make you more worthy to wear the Beskar, any more than the Mandalorians who come from the ancient clan bloodlines. 

I was ten years old when my father was murdered, but I survived, and I trained, and I learned, and taught myself to use every piece of that coveted armor. I even mastered the jetpack. I don’t see yours. I lived up to my father’s reputation and then some. So don’t preach to me about your precious Mandalorian creed, I couldn’t care less. You are not better than me. We’re the same, you and I.”

“No,” Din replied, his voice low and dangerous. “We’re not. You fight for no one but yourself. You work for scum like the Empire and the Hutts--”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t all this start because _you_ took a job for the Imperial remnant and then broke the bounty hunter’s code and stole the asset back? Or is it only the Mandalorian code that needs to be honored? Not that it matters, since Gideon slaughtered your precious Tribe anyway. When this is all over, I’m going back to Nevarro to add you, your woman, and that abomination to the heap of bodies at Gideon’s feet.”

Din made a sound akin to a snarl, slamming his head into Fett’s, the crack of beskar on carbon steel echoing across the courtyard. Fett staggered backward, but recovered quickly and avoided the elbow that was coming for his throat. He stepped to the inside of Din’s right swing, leaving himself open for a knee in the gut. His abdominal armor absorbed the impact and he caught the back of Din’s leg. Slamming the heel of his hand up under the chin of Din’s helmet, he took the other man’s balance. Din caught hold of Fett’s pauldron as he fell backward, twisting his hips to the right so they both landed on their sides with a crash. 

Cara watched as they grappled with each other, each trying to gain the upper hand. They were nearly the same size. Din was slightly faster and his efforts were fueled by desperation. But Fett was strong and had as many years of hard training. They were evenly matched. The fight would be decided by who tired first or who made a mistake first. 

Once again, Cara was torn. Krychek’s patience was spent. If she attempted to fight him again and failed, he would kill her. What’s more, if she fought him, it might distract Din and cause Fett to gain the upper hand. But if she just watched and did nothing, it wouldn’t matter if he defeated his opponent. Krychek would just use her as leverage, most likely shooting Din as soon as he got the chance and then killing her. 

She had two disadvantages - the binders and the harness. She needed to eliminate at least one of those to have a chance at beating him. The spear was still at her side, but it wasn’t digging in very hard anymore. He still had her by the hair, but he had leaned in closer to her to get a better view of the fight raging across the yard. The dim light made it difficult to distinguish the two armored men. Neither had managed to regain their feet yet, but the close quarters also made it difficult for either to use the features of their equipment to get the upper hand.

Krychek leaned in closer, keeping her body in front of his. The spear slipped from her side, its tip extending just past her right hip. He was so close to her now, she could feel his hot breath on the top of her head. The harness was still stretched between her legs and up to his waist. It was taught, but no longer causing her pain. His belt was just above where her hands were bound, the release button there in the center of it. If she could just get at it. He was tall, so she needed to raise her hands a bit. He was too close for her to just lift them up and back, and after his earlier suggestions, she had no desire to risk accidentally touching anything in the vicinity of his crotch. She needed to put a bit of distance between them. 

Her opportunity came when Fett managed to land a vicious kick to the side of Din’s helmet, slamming him sideways into the pavement. She gasped and leaned forward, trying desperately to focus on what she needed to accomplish instead of what was transpiring beyond them. Krychek yanked her back once more, but as the distance between them closed, she hunched her shoulders forward and threaded the tip of his spear between her right elbow and ribs, then slammed her knuckles into his belt as she drove her head back.

Her aim was true - the harness dissolved with an electromagnetic hiss, even as she heard his teeth click together from the force of her head connecting with his chin. Pinning the spear to the side of her body she spun hard to her left, leveraging the weapon out of his hand. She completed her turn and let her arm loose, flinging it away from them with her momentum. There was nothing to stop him from activating the harness again, but he did not seem to be interested in reeling her in this time. Rage glittered in his beautiful eyes and now it was certainly a battle to the death that lay before her.

She met his gaze with a challenging glare of her own and jerked her chin to the side, inviting him to attack her first. She felt certain he would charge, perhaps attempting to impale her with those sharp horns. But he didn’t move. His eyes lifted from hers and glanced at a point beyond her, an insidious smirk lifting up one corner of his mouth as he once more regarded her. Her brows furrowed as she debated whether or not to look behind her.

“It’s over,” Fett’s voice broke the stillness, his soft accent making the dreaded words seem almost conversational.

She had no choice but to turn toward him. Though her heart hammered against her chest at the thought that she was about to look upon Din’s lifeless body, she had to know. She tipped her chin over her shoulder and slowly raised her eyes. Fett was standing in front of Din’s kneeling form, a vibroblade placed against his neck. She turned to face them fully, astonished that Fett _still_ had not delivered a fatal blow. _What is he waiting for?_

“Take off your helmet, Djarin,” Fett commanded.

_He wants to humiliate him. He wants to make him acknowledge that he’s been defeated by his better before he kills him._

“Don’t do it, Din!” she heard herself call to him.

He was kneeling in profile to her, facing Fett. Though she could not see his eyes - and now probably never would - she felt him looking at her. His hands were hanging loose at his sides, but his fingers were splayed wide, as if he was getting ready to draw a blaster from his holster. But there was no blaster. He had thrown it away somewhere in the shadows where she could not see. 

“Cara,” he replied, and there was a subtle note of warning in his tone. 

_What do you want me to do? I can’t just stand here and watch this, you know that._

Cara felt tears spring to her eyes, though she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had never felt so helpless in her life. If she tried to help him, he would die. If she did nothing, he would die. She didn’t even care that she would soon be following him - she just wanted him to live. Her thoughts touched on Bean and what would happen to him once they were both gone. Krychek and Fett would act as Gideon’s hounds and hunt him until he was dead too. It couldn’t end this way. She wouldn’t let it.

A muffled sound behind her alerted her to Krychek’s approach. She turned and just barely ducked the swing of his recovered spear. He brought the lowered end back around and slammed it into her stomach. She doubled over at the force of the impact, barely getting a chance to suck in a breath before he cracked it against her shoulders, driving her to the ground. What little air she had left was forced out of her lungs, causing her to gasp and cough as they struggled to refill themselves. She rolled away from him, managing to get a knee underneath her to regain her feet. She would not go down like this.

But the cry of defiance that rushed past her lips dissolved into a shriek of agony when the Zabrak brought the spear down on her outstretched lower leg, piercing flesh and sinew. He drove it with such force, the tip lodged in the pavement beneath her leg, pinning her where she crouched. Her surroundings were blurry, and for a moment there was nothing else in her world but the excruciating pain emanating from her maimed calf. She heard her name; her mind dimly aware that it was Din’s voice calling her. She struggled to bring him into focus, finally succeeding after great effort. He was raising his hands to the side of his helmet. 

And then, just like that, it was off. 

Dark hair was plastered to his forehead; a few days growth of beard shadowing his lower cheeks and upper lip. It was too dark to make out much more of his features, even when he turned his face to look directly at her. His eyes appeared to be dark, but he had told her as much. His face was completely foreign to her, and yet her mind accepted it as his without a second’s hesitation, as if she had always known it belonged to him.

 _At least I got to see it once,_ she caught herself thinking. 

Din took a deep breath of the humid night air and locked his eyes on Fett, “You were right.”

That seemed to surprise the other man.

He cocked his head to the side before asking, “About what?”

“Neither bloodlines nor oaths make anyone more or less worthy to wear this armor. My pride in my heritage didn’t make me more worthy. My skill as a fighter and as a hunter didn’t make me more worthy, either. I’ve done terrible things. I worked for gangsters, criminals, all kinds of scum. A few months ago, I took a job from the Empire. I accepted payment. I forged that payment into new armor. You and I _were_ the same.”

“But?” Fett asked, knowing there was more coming.

“But--”

Fett suddenly howled in pain and grabbed the sides of his head with both hands, dropping the vibroblade as he staggered backwards. Blaster fire ripped through the air, so suddenly that Cara had no idea where it had originated from. She turned to Krychek, expecting to see a blaster in his hand. Instead, she saw a hole burned into his chest. The shot would have killed a human instantly, but the Zabrak’s second heart saved him, and he was far from dead. He reached for the spear protruding from her leg, but Cara was faster.

With a feral yell, she heaved the weapon free from the ground, tearing it from her calf. She pivoted on her knee and plunged the point into Krychek’s throat. His jaw hung open in confusion, then panic overtook his features as he began to choke on the blood flooding his stomach and lungs. Cara struggled to stand, using the spear as leverage to gain her feet. She risked a glance at Din and saw him kneeling above Fett, who was now lying on the ground, barely moving. She returned her attention to Krychek and tore the weapon free from his body in a sideways motion, separating most of the muscle and tendons holding his head to his shoulders. _That_ effectively put him out of his misery, leaving her free to figure out what the hell just happened.

A metallic thud sounded just behind her, and she clumsily turned on one leg toward the source of the sound, still wielding Krychek’s spear. The lanky frame of an assassin droid stepped out of the shadows before her, its red optics glowing menacingly in the dark. She had never been more relieved to see that fearsome countenance in her life. 

“IG-11!” 

She lowered her weapon, stumbling a bit when the weight of it shifted her balance. The droid stepped forward with an outstretched arm, allowing her to lean her weight on him. 

“Are you alright, Cara Dune?” he asked in his softly scratching voice.

“Ask me again in a few minutes,” she replied, turning back to Din.

He was on his feet now, stepping over Fett’s still body and striding toward her. Cara felt an odd fluttering sensation in her belly. A few moments ago she was positive they were about to die. And now here she was - not dead. And there he was, walking toward her without his helmet. She was about to see what color his eyes were and…

He was almost to her, but instead of becoming clearer, he was becoming more blurry. She looked down, drawn by the sensation of something warm and wet pooling around one of her feet. Her boot was filling with blood. A wave of dizziness washed over her and her head felt like it was about to float off her shoulders. Her uninjured leg started to buckle and the last thought that went through her head was, _You’ve got to be kidding me. Am I really going to pass out now? But he’s right there!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I thought this was going to be the last one - but it was starting to get long, so I split up the chapter. I was going to wait to release them together, but I'm giving this to you now. I'm half way through the last chapter and I've got a much more steady writing schedule now that I'm stuck at home with all this coronavirus nonsense...so it won't take long to get that finished. I do apologize for yet another cliffhanger where Cara loses consciousness - it's getting to be a bad habit with her. I hope you enjoy it!


	9. Zero Sum Game

The first thing that Cara was aware of was a complete lack of feeling in her right leg. Her eyes snapped open and she struggled to sit up, horrified that the limb might be gone.

“Woah, easy Cara. You’re fine! You’re fine! Lie back!”

Din was there, his voice close. Her eyes brought her leg into focus and she breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw that it was wrapped in bandages. Not missing, just numbed. Blessedly so. She let herself collapse back against whatever she was lying on - Din’s lap, she was suddenly aware of as she looked up at him. Her head was cradled against his thigh and arm, his free hand smoothing her hair back. 

There he was, leaning over her, the expression on his _face_ an odd mixture of concern and relief. His dark eyebrows were drawn together, but there was the hint of a smile on his full lips...or maybe they always looked like that. His eyes were a deep, rich, brown; warm and inviting. The short beard on his face mostly kept to his jawline and upper lip, leaving the majority of his cheeks and firm chin bare. Lines framed the corners of his eyes and mouth, giving more the impression of frequent laughter than lost youth. He couldn’t be more than five years her senior.

“Not what you expected?” he asked, watching her scrutinize his face.

“Yes and no. I didn’t really have a clear picture of you in my head and now that I’ve seen you, I can’t imagine any other face ever being yours.”

She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers trailing down the length of his jaw to his chin. He closed his eyes as she traced the hollow beneath his bottom lip back and forth a few times before lowering her hand. When he looked at her again, his eyes had darkened considerably with an emotion she was becoming well acquainted with herself. _Desire._

“How long was I out?” she asked as she explored his face further.

“Not long - about five minutes. IG-11 put some bacta spray on your leg and closed up the punctures as best he could before he wrapped it. He radioed the _Razor Crest_ to let them know where we are.”

“Was this the plan all along?”

“Not remotely. I told them to take off and orbit the planet for five hours. If they didn’t hear from me by then, Kuiil had instructions to take the kid back to Coruscant. I gave them the commlink to contact Riddick and took the pram with the fake signal to go after you.”

“I take it you didn’t like his odds of success?” she asked IG-11.

“With you as a hostage, they had too much leverage over him,” the droid stated. “Kuiil ordered me to follow him and assist in your recovery.”

“So what took you so long?” Cara teased.

“The Mandalorian stole a speeder bike. Apparently it was the only means of fast ground transportation in this entire village.”

“They prefer to travel by boat around here,” Din shrugged. “I was surprised that I was able to find a bike at all.”

“I first followed the tracking signal broadcasting from the pram, but he had left it at the fake coordinates _that_ one had given him,” IG-11 explained, swiveling his head toward Krychek’s body.

“Yom Krychek,” Cara offered. 

“The location was abandoned,” the droid went on. “I stayed for a while to see if Boba Fett would be lured in by the signal, but I never detected his presence.”

“I overheard him telling Krychek that he planned to track you from the hangar. But if you were on a speeder, he probably had a hard time keeping up too,” Cara added as she slowly sat up.

Comfortable as Din’s lap was, she didn’t like the feeling of being prone on the ground in unfamiliar territory. Din helped her up, supporting her back and making sure she was stable before sitting opposite her.

“So what took _you_ so long, if you had a speeder bike?” she asked.

“The bike was too loud for me to bring close to your location. I had to ditch it half a mile out. Speaking of which, do you think you could bring it back here, IG? I left it next to that comm tower,” he pointed with his chin toward where the thin spire could be seen rising above the roof line, a red light blinking on its tip.

The droid nodded and left them, moving as hastily as his long, awkward legs would allow him.

Din turned back to Cara and continued, “I’m sorry it took me so long to reach you. There wasn’t much cover out there and I suspected that Fett was following me. The only way into this place is through the front door or over the roof. But without knowing exactly where Krychek and Fett were, I didn’t want to risk climbing onto the roof. I finally got close enough to the entrance to be able to see inside, but my position was terrible. I couldn’t see Krychek at all because he was behind all those pallets and I could barely see you. I _could_ see that tank of a refrigeration unit. I wasn’t sure if you understood my message though.”

“I got it. I was trying to be subtle about it though. I just couldn’t get the damn latch opened once I got over to it.”

“I figured. That’s why I broke cover and ran in.”

“And that’s why Fett had gone comms silent - because he was perched up on the roof forty feet away and didn’t want to give away his position.”

“He must have gone up there after I found my cover, or else he would have seen me. I guess I couldn’t see him because I was lying on the ground.”

“When did you know IG-11 was there?”

“Right after Fett told me to take my helmet off. I needed to buy time for him to get into a good position, so I stalled.”

“Hell of a way to stall your enemy. Nice speech you gave him back there, though.”

Din’s face turned thoughtful, “It was the truth. He _was_ right. He and I were the same.”

Cara didn’t want to follow him down that path now, so she pressed on with her questions, “Why did Fett grab his head like that right before IG-11 opened fire?”

“Every Mandalorian helmet operates on a certain wave frequency to be able to pick up and transmit signals. IG-11 told me he was scanning frequencies at random to see if he could pick up Fett’s. He finally stumbled on it when he was getting close to us, which allowed him to hear everything we were saying. When Fett told me to take off my helmet, IG stood up enough for me to see him on the roof. He needed time to come around at an angle where he could hit Krychek, so I complied. He transmitted a feedback burst on the same frequency that Fett’s helmet was set to, which is why he grabbed his head. I gotta hand it to him, it was a hell of a distraction.”

“Damn, I love that droid. Okay, I understand everything that happened after you left the ship, but what happened on the roof back at the hangar? How did you and Fett get separated back there?”

“Local law enforcement showed up. I heard Fett say something to Krychek. A few seconds later he squeezed off a few shots and took off. I couldn’t get him before he jumped off the roof and disappeared. I met with the authorities and more or less explained the situation. I asked them to give me twelve hours to apprehend the ah…’criminals evading capture’...and told them we’d cover the cost of the damage done to the hangar.”

“Nice. And they just let you handle it yourself?”

“Phindarins are like that. They won’t risk their own necks if someone else is willing to get their hands dirty for them. They were more than happy to give me the space I needed - they even extended the deadline to a full day.”

“Convenient,” Cara mused.

“Yeah,” he replied, running his fingers up through his hair and brushing it off his forehead. “We need to get back to the hangar as soon as IG-11 gets back. Kuiil has most likely landed by now and I’m sure the kid’s getting anxious.”

“Bean’s awake?”

“The fuel cell blowing up managed to rouse him,” he replied with a small smirk, prompting her to return the expression.

“I like your smile,” she ventured.

He leaned closer to her, pulling his glove off and touching her cheek with his hand, “I’m glad you like it.”

Drawing alongside her so their legs stretched out in opposite directions, he reached across her, supporting his weight on his left arm. It was just as she had done the night she had shared his bed on Coruscant. Now, he leaned across her and tilted his forehead against hers, then shifted his chin so that his cheekbone rested against her temple. His nose pressed into her hair and she felt him take several slow, deep breaths. She remained still, almost afraid to breathe herself, as if any movement might steal this moment away from them.

“I can finally look at you with my own eyes,” he whispered close to her ear. “Touch you with my own skin. Breath in your scent --”

“Which probably isn’t all that appealing right now,” she interjected.

He chuckled, “I’m sure I don’t smell that great either. At least I can keep myself smelling better, now that I don’t have to wear this armor anymore.”

Cara frowned, and pulled back to look him in the eye, “What do you mean?”

He drew his eyebrows together, two little lines between them becoming more prominent, “I can’t put it back on after this, you know that.”

“The hell you can’t,” she protested, pointing to where the two bounty hunters’ bodies were lying next each other, where IG-11 had deposited them. “Who cares if Fett and Krychek saw your face for all of two minutes. They aren’t going to tell anyone now!”

“That’s not the point, Cara. I was defeated in combat and I surrendered myself to my enemy.”

“But you were just trying to buy time!” she argued.

“Exactly. I was buying time so that we could both be saved by a hunter reprogrammed as a nurse droid. Either way, I lost to Fett in a fair fight.”

“So...what...you’re not a Mandalorian anymore?”

“I have lost the honor of wearing my armor, but as long as I hold to my oaths, I’m still Mandalorian.”

He drew in a deep breath, and she saw a myriad of emotions cross his face before he set his jaw and returned his gaze to hers, “My people are gone now, Cara. I’m not even sure if holding to my oaths matters at this point. Maybe it’s better to let the Mandalorian Way fade into memory for good.”

“Is that what you truly want?” she whispered.

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t know how to carry on without them. As far as I know, I’m the last one.”

“We don’t know that for sure. Some might have escaped Gideon. Besides, you’re not alone,” she said, reaching out to take the hand not supporting his weight, and lacing her fingers with his. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll just have to start our own clan.”

A small spark of hope brightened the sorrow in his eyes, and he gave her the barest of smiles, “It might be hard to find recruits with just the two of us.”

She cocked her head to the side, nibbling her bottom lip and peering at him from beneath thick lashes, “Maybe we’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way and raise them ourselves.”

Her proposal brought teeth to his smile, revealing a single dimple in his right cheek.

“Oh, I like this,” she said, gently poking the little depression. “This is adorable.”

“ _That’s_ just what every man longs to hear from his woman,” he complained sarcastically.

“One: You are more than masculine enough to handle me pointing out one or two features as being cute. Two: Am I? Your woman, I mean?”

“Aren’t you?” he asked, a quizzical expression on his brow.

“Well, yeah. I just, I didn’t know what we were calling each other. Am I your girlfriend? Your betrothed? What?”

“I guess--” his voice trailed off when the high-pitched whine of a speeder’s engines filled the courtyard.

Cara had been so intent on their conversation, she hadn’t even noticed the sound of IG-11’s approach. The droid pulled the bike up close to them and put it in neutral before climbing off the saddle. 

“How are you feeling, Cara?” he asked, as if he had been gone for hours instead of minutes. 

She shared a look with Din before quirking an eyebrow and smirking at IG, “Fan-fragging-tastic, buddy. What do you say we pack up this shit and get back to the _Crest?_ ”

“My sentiments exactly,” the droid replied, oblivious to the moment he had just interrupted. “I believe I can load these two onto one of those repulsor-pallets over there, provided we don’t go too fast on the way back to the hangar.”

“That will work,” Din said, straightening from where he leaned across her and hauling himself to his feet with a grunt. 

“Are you hurt?” she asked, appraising him up and down for injuries.

“Just sore,” he answered. “No real damage.”

“Lucky bastard,” she grumbled. “You know, I hardly ever got hurt before I fell in with you. I think I’ve been shot, stabbed, and concussed more in the last six months than I have in the last ten years.”

He reached down and pulled her to her feet, reaching around the small of her back with both arms and drawing her tight against him, “I guess I’m going to have to start training you better, then - since you keep on getting booboos. I was just under the impression that a rebel shock trooper could take care of herself.”

She stuck her tongue in the pocket of her cheek in annoyance, but her eyes shone with amusement, “Okay, smartass...you’re going to pay for that later.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he shot back, making her recall when she had used the same line on him.

She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat, “Tell you what - you give me a helmet to protect my noggin from any more bashes, and I’ll give you some tips on improving your ground game.”

“Sounds fair,” he replied, the corners of his mouth turned down as if he was thoughtfully mulling it over.

She leaned her face close to his, the tip of her nose brushing his chin, “Add that to all the other things I’m going to have to teach you, and we should have a pretty good workout regimen to keep us busy.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, raising on the balls of his feet to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“In good time,” he promised, his voice low and gravelly.

“I have hitched the pallet to the speeder and loaded the bodies,” IG-11 announced as he approached them, extending Din’s helmet to him.

When Din made no effort to retrieve the object, Cara took it from the droid instead. She turned it over in her hands, staring at the only face she had heretofore known of the man she loved. 

“You should at least wear it back to the ship,” she suggested.

“Why?”

“Because Bean’s never seen you with it off. You need to remove it in front of him, so he understands.”

He looked thoughtful, but replied hesitantly, “I don’t know.”

“Hey. We’re starting our own clan, remember? That means we get to make our own rules. Right now, the only living person who has seen you is me, and you were going to show your face to me, anyway. IG-11 is a droid, so he doesn’t count...no offence, pal. Bean and Kuiil are part of the family - and I vote that all family members have facial viewing privileges.”

Din shook his head and gave a defeated sigh, “Alright, fine. I’ll put it on until we get back to the ship. But I still haven’t decided if I’m going to continue wearing it or not.”

“That’s fine. Just take some time to think about it before you make any decisions you can’t undo. Deal?”

“Deal. Are you ready to go?”

“So ready,” she said, pushing away from him and turning to hobble over to the bike.

Din reached around the back of her knees and shoulders, swinging her up into his arms. Cara squeaked in surprise, trying to recall the last time she had been held this way.

“You could have just let me lean on you,” she said.

“I know,” was the only response he gave.

The bike was less than ten feet away, but he took his time getting her there, stopping to make a visual check of the hitch between the speeder and the pallet before gently lowering her to the back of the bike. He held out his hand to take the helmet from her grasp. Instead, she held it up to replace it herself, and he obediently bowed his head low enough for her to reach him easily. She took advantage of his proximity and gave him a peck on the cheek before settling the helmet over his hair. 

He swung his leg over the saddle and revved the engine. IG-11 climbed up on the pallet behind them, anchoring the bodies of the two hunters beneath him. Cara put her hands on Din’s waist and glanced over her shoulder at the droid and the persons in his charge. He had thrown a tarp over the corpses, so she could see little more than their outlines. But as Din shifted the bike in gear and the speeder surged forward, Krychek’s arm slid off the edge of the pallet and poked out from under the tarp, dangling limply.

She felt no sympathy for the two men who had mercilessly hunted them. It was always going to be them or her family who ended up dead at the end of this. But now that they were gone, she felt an odd sense of uncertainty. It was foolish, she acknowledged. Fett and Krychek had just been the most recent recruits in a long line of hunters sent to retrieve Gideon’s asset. In the grand scheme of things, these two hadn’t even been the ones who had pursued them the longest. But they had been the closest to achieving their goals. Gideon would no doubt find someone else to send after them if they didn’t seize this opportunity to take him down now. 

They would need to get in contact with Riddick right away so he could mobilize whoever his allies were and get them on route to Nevarro. Her thoughts turned to Din and everything that he must be going through right now. All things considered, he seemed to be taking it all in stride. Perhaps he was holding out hope that Fett had been lying about the other Mandalorians - but his words earlier did not seem to indicate that was the case. He was probably just bottling it all up inside and waiting for a moment where he could let it out. Din was good at compartmentalizing when the situation called for it, but he was also the sort of man who let himself feel things, instead of brushing his emotions off. It was one of the things she admired most about him. 

The only thing she was truly concerned with was that his grief would turn to rage. Anger was a normal part of every grieving process, but the bitterness and wrath that builds up inside a person when their family - their entire people - are wiped out...well, that was a feeling she was all too familiar with. It was the kind of emotion that could make you do stupid things, reckless things; things that got you killed. She knew she needed to be his anchor during whatever came next. Though there was a part of her that was giddy with the thought that his armor would no longer be a barrier between them, she knew she needed to tread carefully.

She sighed and wrapped her arms more tightly around him, resting her cheek against his back. It seemed as though they could never quite get to a place where it felt right to plunge into their relationship, though it had been growing steadily over the past few months and weeks. The last few days had seen remarkable steps forward, and yet, it still seemed as though progress was slow. Maybe it was just because the only relationships she’d had in the past, as a teenager and then an adult, had been shallow and of short duration. This was different, though. This was worth the wait, and yet it was all the more agonizing to hold back _because_ it was deep and it was true and it was real. 

She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone or anything in her life. She realized that now. It was a terrifying thing to admit to herself, because there was a fear lurking in the shadows that if she lost him - as she had lost everyone else she had ever loved - she would never be able to pick up all the pieces again. She shook her head to push away those dark thoughts. She wasn’t going to lose him. She wasn’t going to lose Bean, either. No matter what it took, she was going to live out her life with these two at her side. She had never been one to believe in destiny or fate, but for a brief moment, she wondered if all of the pain she had endured had been what it took to lead her to this man. Perhaps walking through the fire of searing loss was necessary so she could lead him through it now. A strange thought suddenly occurred to her. 

_What if Bean is the last of his kind too? One of the last Alderaanians. The last Mandalorian. The last...whatever Bean is. Maybe we should make ‘endangered culture’ a prerequisite for being recruited into our clan. Throw in Kuiil and IG-11 and you’ve got the makings of something really special; a Clan of Misfits._

Her overtired brain spontaneously conjured up a mental image of a cheesy holovid program starring a strange family of oddballs, trekking across the galaxy in an old run down spaceship. There was the dad who acted tough, but was actually a huge softy and cried over something his kid did every episode. The mom with a dry sense of humor who was perpetually wondering how her life ended up this way - even though she secretly loved it. The crotchety old grandpa whose dialogue was equal parts sage wisdom and sarcastic barbs that never missed their mark. The terrifying serving droid who was clearly not designed to be a nanny, but was always the steady voice of reason. He also served as the narrator. The tiny, adorable child who everyone thought was just cute and helpless, but was actually the most powerful character in the story.

Before she could stop herself, her shoulders began to shake with silent laughter. It was an absurd notion to think of your family as stars in a holovid show - but it really did fit. All they were missing was a bizarre pet of some kind. 

“Are you crying?” Din asked over his shoulder, his voice carrying a note of concern.

“No,” she replied, her mouth close to his hearing sensors. “I was actually sort of laughing about something. I’ll tell you later.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not. It’s most likely one of those things that’s only funny because my brain is totally fried right now.”

“Well tell me tonight when I’m the same way,” he suggested.

Her exhausted mind lingered over the thought of them sharing her bunk, his armor tossed on the floor in a heap. It would be the easiest thing in the galaxy for them to give into those passions just for the sake of blocking out everything else. However, just as Din had refused to take advantage of her as she had relived the grief of her past, she was determined that she would wait until he had time to process his own grief. In the meantime, she would comfort him and hold him, listening to him and saying whatever needed to be said. It was her turn to be the strong one, and she was determined to be everything that he had been to her. 

“We’re here,” he announced, slowing the speeder as he maneuvered it into the docking bay. 

Cara drank in the familiar lines of the _Razor Crest_ , admitting to herself that the old bucket of bolts did have a certain primitive beauty in its burly design. The side ramp lowered a moment later and Kuiil came trotting down its length, Bean toddling along a few steps behind. 

“It’s good to see you two in one piece,” the Ugnaught greeted them.

“It’s good to be in one piece,” Din replied, hopping off the bike and scooping up the child where he stood with his arms outstretched. “Your nurse droid is the only reason we made it out of that alive.”

IG-11 stood beside Cara, allowing her to use his arm as a crutch to help her off the back of the bike. Din turned and approached the droid, shifting Bean to his hip and stretching out his hand. IG-11 considered him a moment before taking the proffered palm into his own steel digits.

“I didn’t really stop to thank you properly for what you did for us back there. I have always had a hard time trusting droids, but I want you to know that I no longer have any doubts about you. I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

IG-11 regarded him for a long moment before replying, “You’re welcome, Mandalorian. I am glad to have earned your trust.”

Din released his hand and turned so that both Kuiil and IG-11 could see him clearly, “Call me Din.”

Shifting the baby higher, he turned to survey the area, “Okay, I’ve got marching orders for everyone. I’m going to wrap things up with the local law enforcement and make sure we’re squared up with them. Cara, I want you to take Bean up to your bunk and make contact with Riddick - tell him what we know and find out how soon he can get to Nevarro. IG, get Fett and Krychek on ice. Kuiil, I need you to run a short pre-flight check on the _Crest._ We take off in half an hour.”

Cara balked at his timetable, taking a half step, half hop forward, “You can’t be serious. Din, we need to slow down and make a plan.”

“We have a plan: go to Nevarro and kill Moff Gideon,” he answered, his voice taking a slight edge.

Cara schooled her features to an impassive expression. Getting angry with him was not going to help her get her point across.

“That’s not a plan, that’s an objective,” she countered, her tone even and matter-of-fact. “There are several other objectives that need to be achieved before we can get to that one. First of all, we don’t know exactly where Gideon is.”

“I don’t believe Fett was lying when he said Gideon was on Nevarro.”

“Nor do I. But we don’t know if he’s on the planet or on his star destroyer. We need solid intel on where he is. If he’s on his ship, we can just use Riddick’s forces to turn him into space debris. But if he’s on the planet, we’re going to need a lot more information - like which city he’s in, what building he’s holed up in, what kind of security retainer he has. We’ll have to organize a strike team to go down to the planet to take him out _and_ coordinate that attack with Riddick’s ships. We can’t just go in there with half a plan and risk screwing up the best chance we’re ever going to get to take this guy out.”

Din stared at her a moment, before slowly inclining his head, “What do you propose?”

We have Fett’s armor and his ship. We send a message to Gideon. Something along the lines of, ‘The Mandalorian and the rebel dropper are dead. I have the asset. Confirm rendezvous coordinates for drop off’. Gideon will then kindly confirm his location for us, and we’ll go in and get him. Hell, if he’s on the planet, we could fly right up to the front door with both these ships and turn whatever town he’s occupying into an obsidian factory.”

“I recorded Fett’s conversation with Din from the moment I tuned into his frequency. I could use that to synthesize a copy of his voice and send whatever message you like,” IG-11 added.

“Brilliant. What do you think, Din?”

“You’re right. We can’t afford to blow this. New plan. I’ll deal with the locals. Kuiil, see if you can breach Fett’s ship. Just be careful, he may have it rigged for tampering.”

“I know what to look for and how to disable such mechanisms,” Kuiil assured him.

“I know you can build a ship from the ground up, but can you fly them too?”

“Of course,” the Ugaught replied with an air of indignation.

“Good. We might be able to dock them together and get away with only needing one more pilot. If not, we can take a little extra time to upload the flight instructions of one of the ships to IG-11’s databanks.”

“It wouldn’t take long to program him to be able to fly both. I’ve already equipped him to fly the _Razor Crest_.”

“Good. IG, get Fett out of his armor and then put him and Krychek in carbon freeze. Help Kuiil when you’re done with that. Cara - your instructions are unchanged. Once you’ve filled Riddick in, I want you to get some rest. We’re still on a tight timetable and you’re not going to have much time to heal.”

“Don’t worry about me. We have plenty of bacta on board. I’ll be ready for go-time,” she assured him with a confident grin.

“I’ll work on getting into Krychek’s ship once I’m done getting things ironed out with law enforcement. Questions?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one,” Cara volunteered. “Who’s going shopping to replenish our food stores? Because we are straight out of edible groceries.”

“The bounty hunter’s ships might have enough food supplies stocked on board to redistribute to our ship,” IG-11 proposed.

“If not, I’ll get something before we leave,” Din promised.

Cara grabbed Krychek’s spear to use as a staff and held her arms out to Bean, “Alright cutie, come to mama.”

“I’ll bring him up to your room,” Din offered.

Cara was about to protest, but she was forced to acknowledge that climbing the ladder with only one good leg while holding the baby would be needlessly difficult. Nodding her head, she hobbled up the ramp and stopped at the bottom of the ladder. Handing the spear to Din, she climbed up and balanced on the ledge, her right shoulder leaning against the bulkhead wall. He paused before handing the weapon up to her, his gaze lingering on the wickedly sharp tip where their mingled blood encrusted the metal - hers and Krychek’s. She waited patiently as he worked through whatever it was going through his mind, trying not to let herself dwell on how close they had both been to death a mere hour ago. Bean seemed to sense the tension and made a soft cooing sound, which seemed to snap Din out of his reverie. He finally raised the spear up to her, ascending the ladder himself a moment later. Cara passed through the galley into her quarters, pulling the bed down as she stepped in. She leaned the spear in the corner and turned toward the door.

Din leaned past her to put Bean down on the mattress and straightened, “What else do you need?”

“Riddick’s comm. Some decent food. A hot bath. A shoulder rub. Your hands in my hair.”

The inches between them disappeared as he pulled her into his arms. Cara once more found herself in the hard, unyielding embrace of a man completely encased in armor, but she didn’t mind so much. Her arms tucked underneath his, fisting her hands in the material of his cape. His own fingers obligingly found their way into the thick tresses at the back of her head. He was wearing his gloves though, so it wasn’t as nice as it could have been. She pushed her face into the small space between his pauldron and the outer edge of his helmet.

“When I get back from taking care of everything with the Phindarins and getting Krychek’s ship ready for launch, I’ll come back up here. Then all this is coming off.”

“Mmm. _All_ this?”

“The armor,” he clarified.

She gave a mewl of disappointment, but added, “He needs to see you.”

Din glanced at the baby, “He will. And once we are on our way to Nevarro, you and I are going to have a long talk.”

There was no ominous note in his voice, just the promise of a long awaited discussion. This was _the_ talk. The one where he laid everything before her and finally let her make her decision. She had imagined the moment in her head often enough. But in all her contrivances, he had delivered this speech with his helmet on, confessing to her all the sins of his past, and waiting for her to give her answer. And then she would put her hands on the side of his helm, lifting it gently from his head and then setting it aside. Her fantasies would run a bit wild from that point on with various scenarios of kissing, embracing, and other passionate acts of romance. 

But this was not going to play out the way she had imagined. This time, the armor was coming off _before_ he told his story. Now, the question of whether or not his people would accept her was no longer a factor in her decision. Din’s future was as uncertain as hers now. His sense of belonging and the oaths that bound him to his Mandalorian creed had frayed, their grip on him tenuous at best. He was adrift and searching for something to anchor him. 

Cara was determined to be that something. She would listen to his story, but her decision was already made. Whatever he had done in the past - whoever he had been - no longer mattered. She knew who he was now. She was equally certain that wherever their paths led, her place was by his side. 

Taking a deep breath, she pulled back a bit, keeping her hands on his waist, “You better get going then. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can be together.”

His head cocked to one side a bit, and she assumed he was trying to work out all the possible meanings of what being “together” entailed. Her ambiguous phrasing had been intentional though. 

_All of the above,_ she told him silently. 

He sighed and dropped his hands from her, taking a small step back. He reached across the bed and gave Bean an affectionate rub to the top of his head. The baby had been watching their interactions with interest, but made no sound during the exchange. Din retreated from the room, returning a moment later with Riddick’s comm.

“I’ll bring you both something decent to eat when I get back,” he promised, placing the device in her hand. 

“What’s for dessert?” she asked, unable to resist the opportunity.

“What do you want?” he played along.

“Since we’re short on time, I guess I’ll just have to satisfy myself with whatever is on hand,” she replied, reaching up to trail a finger down the center line of his chestplate.

“You’re not making it any easier for me to leave this room,” he growled.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not. So get out of here before I do something stupid.”

“Rest,” he reminded her firmly, backing out of the door and shutting it.

Cara lowered herself gingerly to the mattress. Her leg was beginning to regain some feeling, and it was not very pleasant. After she spoke with Riddick, she was going to wash up and apply some more bacta to her injury. Then sleep. She yawned just thinking about it. But first things first.

She took off her gear and lowered herself onto the pillow, patting the mattress at her side. Bean took a few wobbly steps on his stubby legs and plopped down next to her. She stroked his long ears and booped his nose a couple times, eliciting a tiny giggle from him. 

“How are you feeling now, little man? That was quite an amazing thing you did the other night - saving Kuiil like that.”

He gave her a toothy little smile and gurgled in reply. She reached over and pulled him close to her, kissing his forehead. He made a contented sound and laid his head on her chest, snuggling in. Once he was settled and seemed content to cuddle, she activated the communicator and attempted to raise Riddick.

 _What was that stupid passcode again? Oh yeah,_ "It's always sunny on Naboo."

After two unsuccessful attempts to reach him, his voice crackled over the comm, “It's a nice day for a swim. That you, Cara?”

“It’s me,” she confirmed.

“I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you and that Mandalorian. It’s good to hear from you. I’ve got some news for you.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“Ladies first.” 

“Fett and his partner, Yom Krychek, are both dead as of an hour ago. Fett informed us that Gideon was on Nevarro. Assuming we can gain access to their ships without getting ourselves blown up, we’ll be on our way there within the next couple hours. How soon can you get your people together?”

“We’re already on route,” he answered.

“What? How?”

“I received a message from Greef Karga early this morning saying that Gideon had imposed some kind of despotic rule on Nevarro. His star destroyer is keeping a low profile, but hunters leaving the system have reported that it is keeping to the dark side of one of the moons. Gideon is mostly staying planetside, it seems.”

“Dammit. I was hoping he’d be on his ship so we can just blow him to hell and be done with it. Figures. Alright, coordinated assault it is. Did Karga give you any idea of what kind of forces Gideon is keeping on the ground? I need to know how many people I’m going to need for a strike team.”

“He didn’t give me a solid number, but he did use the words ‘sizable entourage’. He also mentioned that communications coming in and out are being monitored.”

“How did he send you a transmission then?”

“He didn’t. He recorded a message and had one of his hunters relay it to me from the next system over. Gideon is allowing the Guild to move on and off the planet, but their ships are inspected upon takeoff and landing and all bounties have to be approved by an Imperial officer before being accepted.”

“Do you have anyone on your end who would be useful for a ground assault?”

“No more than ten. Most of these people are slicers and techs. The ships I’m bringing in are already operating on a skeleton crew, so I can’t afford to lose too many personnel.”

“Understood. Ten will do. I’ve got a few ideas, so we might not need any boots on the ground.”

“Do tell.”

“I’ll need some more solid intel on numbers and how spread out they are, but we might be able to pull this off just using Fett and Krychek’s ships. Din can put on Fett’s armor and fly his ship. I can fly in on the other one - maybe, I’m not that great a pilot. _Someone_ can fly me in on the other ship and we can come right up to the front door claiming we’re bringing in Gideon’s prize. If they’re clustered up enough, we can just level the place. Meanwhile, your ships can take down the Star Destroyer. You’re sure they can do it?”

“I’ve got a squadron of assorted fighters, two Y-wing bombers, a B-wing, an SS-54 assault ship, a heavily-modified Allanar N3 freighter, and an interdictor-class cruiser. They can do it.”

“What model is your interdictor?”

“An Immobilizer 418.”

“Color me impressed. That will keep the Imps from skipping out... _if_ it’s working. I’ve heard those 418’s had a few issues.”

“This one has had the kinks worked out, trust me.”

“Like I have a choice. Where’s your dropout location?”

“Out at the edge of the system, beyond their scanner range. There’s a small asteroid field out there that will do nicely for a rendezvous point. Give me a minute and I’ll transmit the exact coordinates to you.”

“Alright. Well, we’ve got the skeleton of a plan here. I’ll let you know once we’re off Phindar.”

“Phindar? What are you doing all the way out there?”

“We got chased off Arvala-7 and Din wanted to go back to someplace familiar.”

“Are you both alright?”

“More or less. I got a teensy bit impaled, but I’m good,” she admitted, trying to make it sound casual.

“ _Impaled?_ ”

“Just in the leg. No big deal. All that bacta you gave us will get me on both my feet again in no time. What about you? I heard Krychek bragging that he gave you a new skylight.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I had to find a new house though, since my location got advertised in a big way. That was a bit of a disappointment - I liked that pad.”

“I’m sorry, Brice. Fett managed to tag our ship with a homing beacon on Lariva VII. We led them right to you.”

“It happens. I’m not going to hold a grudge about it.”

“You know, you’re a good man when you want to be.”

He laughed, “I’m _always_ a good man...except when I’m being a bad boy.”

“That is about the most accurate self-description I have ever heard anyone make of themselves. Congratulations,” she teased. “How long until you reach Nevarro?”

“About twenty-one hours.”

“Hmm. I think you’re going to beat us there.”

“If you’re coming from Phindar, I’ll definitely beat you there. That’s at least a thirty hour flight.”

“Well that ought to give you plenty of time to get us some actionable intel, then.”

“Listen, if you take too long getting back and it looks like that star destroyer is about to leave, we’re not going to be able to wait for you. You know that, right?”

“I don’t like anyone fighting my battles for me. But in this case, I don’t care who gets this bastard - I just want him dead so we can get back to our lives. So yeah, don’t wait on us if it looks like he’s moving on.”

“Alright. I sent you the coordinates. Let me know when you leave so you can give me an ETA.”

“Yep. Take care of yourself. And Brice...”

“Hmm?”

“I know this isn’t really for us, but thanks for doing this.”

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little bit about you.”

She allowed herself a small smile, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Cara.”

The comm went silent and she took a moment to collect her thoughts.

“What was I going to do next?” she asked Bean.

He looked at her quizzically, but declined to gurgle an answer. She stretched and felt a stab of pain lance up her leg from her calf to her butt. 

“Oh yeah, more bacta.”

She struggled to her feet, raising her arms behind her head and stretching her sore muscles. The odor of a body too long unwashed suddenly assaulted her nostrils. 

“Ugh. I smell terrible. I can’t believe you cuddled with me all that time and didn’t pass out.”

Hobbling through the door, she procured two containers and filled one with hot water. Returning to her quarters, she shut the door and began peeling off her layers of clothing. She pulled off her right boot first, giving an exasperated huff when she surveyed the two holes poked into it. 

“I really liked these boots, too,” she grumbled.

She peeled off her blood-soaked sock and threw it and her remaining foot ware aside. She unbuckled her belt, tossing that next to her previously discarded gun belt. She wiggled out of her pants and carefully slid them over her bandaged calf. Finally, she stripped off her shirt and underclothes, taking a moment to check her body over for minor injuries. The electromagnetic harness had left a welt on her inner thigh, but it had not broken the skin. She had a few other bruises and abrasions, but nothing serious. Her head was not giving her any pain either, which was somewhat surprising. 

“Not too bad, all things considered,” she mused aloud.

She dug her bathing products out of one of her cubbies and laid a mat on the floor to sit on. She poured a bit of water into the second bowl and took a razor to all the places that needed its attention. After she cleaned the razor in the smaller container, she soaped her sponge and washed herself thoroughly. Leaving that in the little bowl as well, she awkwardly maneuvered to her knees and dipped her hair in the large container with the clean water. She worked soap through that as well and then soaked it, working all the suds out. The entire process was long and inefficient, but she was thoroughly clean by the end of it. She toweled off her hair and body and pulled on a pair of short bottoms and a sleeveless top. 

She emptied the soiled water in the galley’s sink and slowly made her way to the ladder. The storage container with the bacta was in the hold, so she would have to get it herself. By this time, her leg was screaming for relief. She slid down the ladder, landing on her good leg. She hopped over to the opposite end of the hold, locating the box of medical supplies. When she had pulled out everything she needed, she closed the lid and used the container as a seat. She carefully unwrapped her leg, wincing when some seepage clung to the last layer of the bandage. 

The wound was not pretty. It was about an inch and a half in diameter, the puncture nearly perfectly round. Amazingly enough, the spear had missed both bones in her leg, piercing through the thickly muscled area not far below her knee. It had penetrated on the outside of her leg and emerged on the inside, devastating the muscles and ligaments within. It was fortunate that her leg was at a strange angle when he speared her though - bones took much longer to heal than muscle. The bacta would be able to repair much of this quickly, but she would still be limping some when they reached Nevarro. 

She slapped a slow release numbing patch on her calf, waiting a few minutes for it to kick in. When the pain had receded to a dull throb, she injected more bacta into the center of the puncture. She clenched her teeth as the pain flared once more, squeezing her eyes shut and counting down from fifty until it subsided. She applied an antiseptic spray to the outside and worked on pulling the flesh back together on the exit wound. The skin was more intact on that side and she was able to close most of it up, using surgical glue to hold it together. The outside wound was more difficult to close, but she did the best she could. The scar would be ugly, but that came with the job. She wrapped a clean bandage around her leg and cleaned up her supplies. 

When she was back on her feet, she hesitated, then gave into the impulse to look over Krychek and Fett’s bodies encased in carbonite. The Zabrak looked much the same, save for the missing part of his neck, but she wasn’t prepared for the face that stared at her from Boba Fett’s body. He was younger than she had expected, probably only a couple years older than Din. His face was somewhat handsome, marred only by faint pockmarks and a few small scars. Most striking was that there was no sign of the trauma that usually reflected on the faces of those frozen alive. He looked...peaceful. She lingered there longer than she had intended, strangely mesmerized by the very human looking monster who had nearly cost her everything. It occurred to her that had things ended up a little differently, it could have been Din in this man’s place - hunting down a stolen asset for Gideon. 

A small sound behind her startled her out of her thoughts. Bean’s upside-down head was poking through the hatch at the top of the ladder, his brown eyes giving her an expectant look. 

“I’m sorry. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

She tossed her mess in a trash receptacle and climbed the ladder slowly. Scooping up the baby, she limped back toward her room. She stopped to drink a glass of water before crawling into her bed and dimming the lights. She needed rest. Din would be back soon and she was suddenly feeling weak with exhaustion. Though he was certainly not tired after all the hours he had slept after healing Kuiil, Bean seemed content to stay near her on the bed. He amused himself with a toy that she kept in her room for him, playing quietly as she pushed all the thoughts crowding her mind aside and dozed off.

* * *

  
  


The tangy scent of something delicious managed to pervade Cara’s senses, coaxing her to wakefulness. Her mouth was watering before she had even fully identified what it was: meiloorun. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she was surprised to detect the quiet thrum of the ship’s hyperdrive engines. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she rolled onto her back slowly. Din was sitting opposite her, one leg stretched out on the edge of the mattress. He had a bowl of chopped fruit in his lap, and was offering Bean a piece. The toddler took it and sniffed before popping it in his mouth. Almost instantly, he spit it back out on Din’s leg, trying to scrape the taste off his tongue with his front teeth.

Cara giggled, “I guess that’s a ‘no’. That’s okay, more for me.”

She sat up, carefully bending her injured leg and preparing to cross the length of the bed.

“Stay there,” Din instructed, reaching forward to hand the bowl to her.

He dropped his leg off the bed and stood up, taking a step back from the edge. He seemed uncertain of what to do next.

“How long have I been out?”

“About six hours,” he informed her.

“Damn. I didn’t realize I had slept that long. I take it everything went well then?”

“It went surprisingly smoothly. Kuiil bi-passed the security features on both their ships, and managed to get them docked together. He’s flying both right now so IG could stay over here and help keep an eye on him,” he gestured to Bean with his chin.

“Oh! I told Brice I would message him once we were on route.”

“I spoke with him. He filled me in on his intel. Seems like we’re going to have more backup than what I had originally counted on.”

“Did you ever go over the profiles he gave you back on Coruscant?”

“Yeah. I’m not worried about his allies. They’ll be focused on settling some scores with the Empire, which is fine with me. I’ve got scores of my own,” he added under his breath.

Anxious to change the subject, Cara asked, “You want some of these?”

She held out the bowl to him, sliding her eyes from his concealed face to Bean and back again - the unspoken question hanging between them. 

He took a deep breath and nodded, “I do. They smell really good.”

He hesitated, as if unsure if there was something more to be said or done before he performed the simple - yet momentous - act of removing his helmet. Apparently deciding that it was best to just get it over with, he took the object in his hands and raised it from his head, his eyes focusing first on the baby’s reaction, then glancing at Cara. Bean’s ears perked up, and his large eyes somehow became a bit larger. He made a small squeak, but showed no sign of fear.

Din finger combed his hair off his forehead and knelt beside the bed, reaching across Cara’s legs to beckon the toddler closer. He complied, and Din lifted him over her and perched him on the edge of the mattress, level with his face. Bean cocked his head to the side, then reached out with his tiny hand and touched Din’s chin. His little claws gently scratched at the short whiskers he discovered there. He explored Din’s mouth and nose with a child's deep fascination, as if trying to determine if he was indeed a normal human. 

Cara watched their interaction closely, her heart full of emotions she could hardly identify. Din glanced at her, smiling at her expression. He pulled off his gloves and brushed Bean’s cheek with his thumb, extending his other hand across the bed, palm up. Instead of placing her whole hand in his, Cara just touched his fingertips with her own. Even that little bit of contact thrilled her, but she made no effort to interrupt the moment between Din and --

 _Our child,_ her mind supplied the correct description.

When she was working with the rebellion, she had seen a little girl meeting her father for the first time after he came back from a long remote assignment. She had seen him on a holovid, but never in person. This reminded her of that moment. Yet this was different. Although Bean had formed a close physical and emotional attachment to Din, he had never seen his face at all. 

Din leaned forward and rested his forehead against Bean’s. The baby made a sound of contentment and nuzzled closer, his tiny fingers curling around Din's ears when his reach fell short of his neck. They stayed that way for a while, until Din slowly raised his chin and brushed a kiss on Bean’s fuzzy head. 

He pulled back and stood once more, asking no one in particular, “How about I take the rest of this stuff off?”

“Why not?” Cara asked, keeping her tone casual.

He shot her a somewhat surprised look, but made no remark as he turned his attention to disconnecting the various pieces of his armor. He placed them neatly in the bottom of the weapons locker to the left of her bed, and she wondered if he believed he was taking them off for the last time. He unclasped his belt and hung it up on a hook. He pulled off the tough fabric that the plates were secured to and folded it as well, placing it atop the stacked plates. Underneath was a form-fitting, long sleeve shirt. Next, he removed his boots and nudged them under the bed with a socked foot. Finally, he slid off his heavy pants, revealing those delightfully tight leggings once more. 

Cara resisted the urge to give him an appreciative whistle. He raised an eyebrow at her as if expecting some sort of quip from her, but she just watched him with a decidedly non-suggestive smile on her face. 

_See? I can behave,_ she wanted him to know.

He folded his pants and placed them with the rest of his clothing. He drew close to the side of the bed and reached up to get a fresh set of clothes from the cubby above. 

_Okay, you’re doing that on purpose,_ she mused, letting her eyes wander over the contours of his body that his current apparel gave her a very detailed view of. _Not that I’m complaining._

His shirt slipped up a little, revealing the smooth skin from his navel to the top of his waistband. Cara swallowed hard, but when he finally located the articles of clothing he desired - which should not have taken as long as it did, given the fact that he had no more than two extra sets of clothing - she was once more focused on the contents of her fruit bowl. 

“I’m going to clean up,” he announced. “Do you mind if I use your towel? Mine needs to be washed.”

“Go ahead,” she said, inclining her head to where it was drying on a bar next to the dresser.

“I need to put up another towel bar in here,” he said. “Mine doesn’t dry well where I have it hanging. I think that’s why it starts to smell so quickly.”

“Probably. Maybe we should put a ventilator fan in here to help the air circulate better.”

“We could. The noise wouldn’t bother you?”

“Nah, it’s ambient. Besides, this is a small ship. You can hear everything everyone is doing no matter where you are. It might help us sleep better.”

 _It might help everyone else sleep better when we’re_ not _sleeping,_ she added to herself.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she could see him looking for the innuendo in what she was suggesting. But she was determined that she was not going to take things in that direction, especially with the baby still in the room. He grabbed some soap and stepped out into the galley, securing both doors for privacy. 

In typical man fashion, it took him less than five minutes to clean, dress, and return to the room. His damp hair was brushed back, though some unruly locks seemed to be trying to fall back into his face. He was now wearing a black short sleeve shirt and a tan colored pair of loosely fitting pants, made of parachute material that made a soft swishing sound when he walked. Standing in her door with bare feet and her towel hanging around his shoulders, he looked shockingly normal.

“Did you save any for me?” he asked, pulling the towel from his shoulders and returning it to the bar to dry.

“There’s plenty,” she replied, keeping the bowl in her lap and patting the bed to her left. “Come get some.”

He pondered a moment before climbing over and claiming the space between her and the bulkhead wall. He stretched out on his side, one hand propping up his head, as he reached into her lap to snag a few pieces of the sweet, tangy fruit. It had never really made sense to her before why some people found it sexy watching someone else eat - but she was swiftly beginning to understand the sentiment. 

She watched him open his mouth to take a bite of the soft, fleshy meat, his tongue darting out over his lower lip to catch the juice that threatened to drip onto the bedcovers. His jaw muscles worked slowly as he savored the taste, which in turn made the chords of his neck shift rhythmically. He popped the other half into his mouth, chewing with more relish and swallowing quickly, the prominent cartilage in his throat bobbing as he did so. 

“I’ve never had meiloorun this good,” he commented. “It’s perfectly ripe.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. It’s really tasty,” she shook herself, trying not to get drawn in as he ate another piece.

_Kriffing hell, I’m getting jealous of a piece of fruit._

She quickly searched for a distraction and found it when Bean made a whining sound that indicated he needed to use the refresher unit. All but throwing the bowl of fruit at Din, she slid off the bed and grabbed the baby, moving with surprising speed for someone with only one good leg.

“I’ll take him,” she called over her shoulder, already halfway out the door. 

“O---kay,” he answered, confusion evident in his voice.

As Cara approached the ladder and tried to figure out which arm she would need to hold Bean with to descend with only one foot and one hand, IG-11 poked his head up from the bottom. 

“I can assist him,” he offered. “I also took the liberty to prepare him a meal earlier. If you require more rest, I can keep him down here so he can eat and have more room to play.”

Bean’s ears perked up at the mention of food and he leaned away from her, holding his hands down toward the droid.

“Oh. Sure,” she reluctantly handed the baby down the ladder to the droid’s waiting arms. 

“Let’s try out your new potty seat first,” she heard the droid say, as he disappeared from sight. 

She limped back to her quarters, leaning on the doorframe, “Potty seat?”

“IG has been working on it since we took off. The opening is his size. It fits over the regular seat so we don’t have to worry about him falling in the bowl again.”

“Huh. Why didn’t we think of that?”

He shrugged from where he lay stretched out, his feet crossed at the ankles, “Apparently a hunter droid reprogrammed to be a nurse has more insight into taking care of babies than we do after five months.”

She grimaced, “We’re terrible parents, aren’t we?”

He turned thoughtful, “We’ve kept him alive. That’s got to count for something.”

She pushed off the frame and hobbled to the bed, sitting on the edge with her back to him, “I think we need to work a little harder on keeping ourselves alive.”

The mattress shifted as he sat up behind her. She stiffened as his legs slid to either side of hers, his arms coming around her middle. Her hands rested atop his forearms, and she relaxed by increments. The hair on his chin tickled her ear as he leaned his head against hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for,” she replied. “I was the one who got myself captured.”

“And I was the one who botched your rescue.”

“Look, can we please not argue about who has the greater share of blame? We both made some dumb decisions, but we made it out. At the end of the day, that’s all that really matters, right?”

He exhaled through his nose with a huff, stirring the wisps of hair at her temple, “I guess.”

He was quiet for a long time after that, and Cara wasn’t quite sure what to say next. There was so much they needed to talk about. They needed to discuss their plans for dealing with Gideon, but that could wait for now. She wanted to know how he was handling his grief about the Tribe being gone, but she was afraid to bring it up first. She would rather focus on the two of them, but she wasn’t sure how they could discuss that without the conversation turning to his murdered people. She had wanted to be the one to comfort him, but here he was holding onto her. The thought of more physical contact than what they were currently indulging both scared and excited her. She was afraid that if she turned around to face him, if she went into his arms, if she kissed him - that would be it - there would be no going back, once they set off down that path. 

_What should I do?_ she agonized.

Finally, she fell back on her old mantra that honesty was always the best course of action, so she just told him straight out, “I’m not really sure what to do right now.”

“Me either,” he admitted. “I know what I _want_ to do, but I don’t know how to get from here to there.”

“What do you want to do?” she whispered.

“Oh, I think you know,” he replied, his voice low in her ear. “The same thing you want. But you’re just as afraid of it as I am - which I was not anticipating.”

“I’m not afraid of what comes next. I just don’t know if this is the right time. So much has happened…” she stopped, reluctant to stray too far down that path.

“You’re right. Everything has changed. The decisions of the covert had a bearing on our future together. Now, my past is the only thing left in the way.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll listen to your story because I promised you I would. But it’s not going to alter my decision. I heard you tell Fett that you were Nameless and I know what that means. But whatever you did is in the past. I know who you are now and that’s all that matters to me. A lot has changed, but one thing hasn’t...and won’t.”

She took a deep breath before letting loose the words that she couldn’t take back - and had no desire to.

“I love you.”

She blinked. Those were the words, but they hadn’t come from her mouth. The soft breath that carried them to her ear still warmed her skin. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back against his shoulder, turning her face into him. Her nose brushed his jaw and she stretched her neck to press a kiss to his cheek. He disentangled his right hand and slid it down her thigh, gripping the inside of her knee. He tugged it gently toward him, pulling her leg sideways across his lap. The rest of her body followed, and she lifted her head from his shoulder so she could raise her hand to his face.

She pressed her forehead to his, the sweetness of their tradition made all the more intimate with the feeling of his skin pressed against hers. His breath fanned her lips, still tangy from the meiloorun fruit. She tipped her head slightly, her nose brushing the side of his. 

“I love you too,” she confessed, her lips ghosting across his as she uttered the words.

She caught his lower lip briefly, released him, then returned for another nibble. He responded to her in kind, but let her take the lead in this foreign dance. She targeted his upper lip next, smiling at the sensation of his mustache brushing against her mouth. He kissed her back with more confidence, tilting his head opposite hers a bit more to get a better angle. She reclaimed his full bottom lip, deepening the contact between them. Her hand gripped his neck while the other clutched the material of his shirt. He groaned, tangling his fingers into her hair and pressing her head back onto his shoulder. He learned quickly and was eager to practice the leading steps. Cara was all too happy to let him.

He took his time familiarizing himself with her lips, then took even more time exploring the rest of her mouth after she had begged entrance to his own. He briefly trailed small kisses across her cheek, jaw, and throat, but soon returned to her lips to discover whatever secrets that were not yet known to him. Cara was unsure how long they had been sitting there in that way, but she discovered she was not impatient to move on from it. It felt as though she could be content just to let this man kiss her the entire night long.

But then his hands began to wander, as hands are wont to do when two people are in the midst of meshing mouths. The fingers that had been in her hair were moving up and down the center of her back, lightly pressing into her muscles. With each time they descended they came a little closer to the curve of her bottom. And then his hand was completely palming her left butt cheek with no apparent inclination to move for some time. She pressed her palm against the planes of his chest, recalling the sensations she had felt when she first touched him there in Riddick’s house. There, he had pulled back abruptly when her fingers had brushed against his nipple, putting an abrupt stop to it. Tonight, as she explored his chest through his shirt, he did not object to her touch. 

Still gripping her bottom firmly, he tipped sideways, pulling her on top of him as he sank back onto the bed. She slid to his left side, pulling him with her as she went. Side by side now, he gently pushed his knee between her legs, propping up her injured calf. He slid his arm beneath her neck, cradling her as his free hand once more began to wander. It trailed up and down the outside of her thigh, then higher over the curve of her hip. He discovered the depression above her hip bone and lingered there for quite a while. 

His mouth was still occupying hers, but he was becoming bolder in his adventures to her neck, and then her shoulder, and then her collarbone. Her breath was coming in pants now, but they were not yet past the point of no return. But she knew if she didn’t stop soon, she wouldn’t. If he continued venturing further south with his mouth, she would let him have the rest with no questions asked.

“Din?” she finally managed, her voice almost pleading. 

His mouth ceased its nibbling of her earlobe, “Hmm?”

She shuddered with delight at the depth of his voice, knowing she was responsible for its change in timbre. _Focus._

“I want this. You know that…”

“But I promised we would talk first,” he finished, raising his head to look at her eyes.

“It’s not that, exactly. I mean, I thought you wanted to wait until we were _married_ first before we did this.”

“Before we kissed?” he asked.

“No, before we - you know - made love.”

“I still do.”

She drew her eyebrows together, “Well then I suggest you back off the accelerator because if this goes any further I don’t think either of us are going to stop.”

He sighed, “You’re right. It’s just I’m…”

“Enjoying yourself?” she finished.

He nodded, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, bringing his dimple out.

“Me too,” she breathed. “It’s just that, if you really still want to wait, we need to set some boundaries here.”

“Such as?”

“Well for one, if your mouth or your hands end up anywhere in this vicinity,” she gestured to her breasts, “all bets are off and you better be prepared to wed and bed me post haste.”

Din gazed longingly at her generous bosom for a few moments before nodding slowly, “That’s probably wise.”

“The same goes for that vicinity down there, but I’m sure you knew that already. I will do the same, but you can’t go exhibitioning your equipment in those kriffing skinny pants anymore.”

His grin widened, “Oh, so you _did_ enjoy that.”

“Aha! I knew you were doing that on purpose, you little turd. Hell yes, I enjoyed it. So stop tantalizing me with things I can’t have yet.”

He sobered, but she could tell he was trying not to smile, “Yes ma’am. Anything else? Should I keep a shirt on too?”

“No, no - feel free to walk around shirtless all you want.”

“Can I still sleep in this bed?” he asked quietly.

Cara pondered that a moment, “Yes. But...Nnng! Din, I want to respect your timetable, but setting up all these boundaries to try and keep ourselves from having sex while we’re sharing the same bed every night is kind of pointless, don’t you think? I mean, what are we waiting for? Is there some sort of special ceremony that needs to take place? Do we need to track down a specific person to legally marry us? I don’t know what you want.”

“I haven’t even actually asked you to marry me, yet.”

“So spit it out and ask me so I can say yes!” she laughed. “I already told you that there is nothing you can say that will make me reject you. So unless you want to take some more time to inspect my sordid history before making an informed decision, there is nothing left to wait on.”

“I don’t know how,” he admitted quietly.

She put her hand on his cheek and kissed the tip of his nose, “Something like this: Din Djarin - I love you. I don’t know what the future will hold for either of us, but I do know that I can face all the uncertainties of this galaxy with you at my side. Be my husband, my home...the place where I belong. Marry me.”

He stared at her a long moment.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I’ll marry you,” he answered.

“Wait, you’re not going to ask me?”

“I couldn’t come up with something that beautiful in a thousand years. Does it really matter who does the asking?”

Cara thought about that a moment, “I guess not.”

“If you really want me to ask you too, I will - but it’s not going to sound like that.”

She laughed, “Well, okay then. I suppose this means we can define the relationship as ‘betrothed’ now. On Alderaan, a man would give a woman something to wear, like a ring or a necklace to be a sign of their engagement. Should we do something like that?”

“I don’t have anything to give you. No wait...I do. Hang on.”

He extracted himself from her and rolled off the bed, pulling out his folded pants. She sat up and watched him search through his pockets. He palmed a small object and returned to the bed, sitting beside her. 

“This isn’t really valuable, but it’s the only ornament that has any meaning to me. I don’t know if it’s something you would even want - so it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you decide to wait to find something more feminine.”

He opened his palm to reveal a simple necklace: a small mythosaur skull cast in beskar steel, dangling from a black cord. Apart from his armor, this traditional symbol was the only proof that he was a true Mandalorian. 

“I can’t accept this, Din. I’m not Mandalorian.”

“There may be no more Mandalorians but me. I’m giving this to you to show everyone that you are my clan.”

She smiled, taking the necklace from his palm and inspecting it closely.

“A clan of misfits,” she said under her breath.

“What?”

“Oh nothing. Just something I was thinking about earlier. I’m one of the last Alderaanians. You might be the last Mandalorian. If Bean has a family out there, no one I know has ever seen them. We are all misfits. Castaways.”

She put the cord over her neck, the pendant resting between her breasts, “But I will wear this with pride.”

He leaned forward and captured her lips once more in a passionate kiss, leaving both of them breathless when he finally released her. 

“So seriously, when are we getting married?” she asked when she had composed herself.

“If all goes as planned, two days from now Gideon will be dead - and we can start our life out from under his oppression.” 

“What if things don’t go as planned?” she asked.

“Whatever the outcome on Nevarro, I won’t make you wait beyond that. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Din Djarin,” she warned, giving his lower lip a quick nibble. “Who’s going to do the ceremony?”

“Now that my people are gone, I don’t really have a preference. Do you have someone in mind?”

“Nope. Can Kuiil do it?” she asked, only half teasing.

“I had actually considered that. I’ll ask him when we get a chance.”

She stretched out on the bed, nestling into the pillows and crooked a finger at him, beckoning him to lie down beside her. Din looked down at her and furrowed his brows, his jaw working from side to side.

“Cara, there is still more that needs to be said,” he began. “I do need to tell you about my past and what led me to where I am today.”

“Then tell me,” she said, reaching over to take his hand in hers. “But come here so I can hold you while you do.”

He obediently lowered himself beside her, opening his arms so she could snuggle up close. He went back to the beginning, and told his tale from start to finish. It was long into the night when he was done, but she stayed awake and listened to every word. There was much that was hard for him to tell, and certain parts of his story moved him to the brink of tears. She took it all in, accepted the good with the bad, and when there was nothing more to be said, she kissed him long and hard. She reassured him that her love could not be shaken by the deeds of his past. 

“In the last six months, I’ve lost everything I ever held dear,” he told her, emotional and physical exhaustion slurring his words. “My home. My place in the guild. My reputation. And now my people - my whole identity. But it’s strange. I’m sickened by the part I played in their deaths...but I’m not lost. All the things that I thought mattered the most, I’ve found I can live without. And the one thing I can’t live without, I haven’t really lost at all.”

“What’s that?” she asked, raising her head off his shoulder and peering at his face in the dim light.

“My family. You. Our son.”

He kissed her again, tenderly, almost reverently - as if she was the most precious thing in the world to him. Which she was, she allowed herself to admit. He had just said it. 

_Me. Our son._

His mouth slowed against hers, its movements becoming less and less perceptible. His chest rose slowly and steadily beneath her hand, his heart beating its rhythmic cadence against her palm. She smiled against his mouth, pressing one more kiss to his lower lip before tucking her head against his shoulder. She succumbed to sleep soon after, secure in Din’s warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, the story of his life that took hours to tell her will be fully disclosed in the first chapter of Part 2, written from Din's POV.


	10. Epilogue

Jadzia drew a slow, deep breath into her lungs, held it for a count of five, then slowly released through her barely parted lips. The air in the room was stale and the smell less than savory, but she had breathed worse before. She sat on her knees in the center of the room, her feet tucked just behind her bottom and her hands resting lightly on her thighs. She closed her eyes and focused inward, though the warrior in her would not allow her senses to completely shut out her surroundings. She had an hour before her host would make his evening visit, and she took the time to reflect once more on the events that had led her to this moment. There was precious little else she could occupy her mind with.

_“Is he gone?” Jadzia asked, not looking up from her work._

_“Yes. I saw him off myself. He made it out with whatever it was that the Imperials wanted so badly.”_

_Two of her captains were in the room, but it was Paz Vizsla’s gravelly voice who had responded to her query. His tone sounded as though he was pleased simply to have denied his enemies something they sought. Jadzia understood that sentiment, but she had more immediate concerns._

_“Were they any casualties on our side?”_

_“None,” her second captain, Orik Reaver, replied this time._

_“Excellent. Were you able to return without being seen?”_

_“Once Din got away, the remaining bounty hunters retreated. Everyone else was lying low already. There were no witnesses. Just to be sure, we split up our forces and chose only the most concealed access points. But they know we came from somewhere,” Paz warned._

_“The question is: will they choose to pursue us?” she pointed out._

_“Does it matter? Word is going to spread that a large group of Mandalorians is on Nevarro. We can’t keep it a secret. We have to move the Covert.”_

_"Call an assembly in the Lower Chamber. We will discuss this as a group and I will make my decision after all have been given a chance to speak.”_

_After replying an affirmative, both men retreated from the heat of her workroom to spread the word. Jadzia finished applying a second coat of enamel to a newly forged cuisse. The thigh plate was fashioned from carbon steel instead of beskar, but it would serve as a worthy piece of armor for the young woman who had requested it._

_Setting aside her work, Jadzia tidied up her tools and exited the room, making her way down to the older section of catacombs that lay underneath the ones they regularly used. This section of Nevarro’s subterranean network was mostly unused by the Mandalorians. However, there was one large circular chamber that was occasionally implemented when it was necessary for the entire Tribe to come together at once. She followed the well known path to her destination, glad to see that Paz and Orik had already managed to get most of the Mandalorians to head there already._

_She silently counted the people in the room, remembering to add their newest member to the grand total, though the child was but a week old. When the last three of the forty-one members of the Covert had slipped in behind the others, Jadzia addressed them all._

_“An hour ago, the council voted to allow a team of volunteers to reveal themselves in order to aid Din Djarin’s escape from the planet. He stole an asset highly prized by Imperial agents hiding in this city. Captain Vizsla, please give the Covert a brief mission summary.”_

_“A dozen of our fighting core engaged with members of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. Djarin had already killed several of their number, but was pinned down in the market square. We laid down suppressive fire, allowing him time and space to escape safely with the Empire’s asset. Our forces killed ten hunters, and injured several more. Our own team suffered no casualties, and only minor injuries. After the altercation was over, the hunters retreated. We returned unseen by either guild members or civilians to the catacombs. But make no mistake, they know we’re here now.”_

_“A choice lies before us,” Jadzia stated, nodding a ‘thank you’ to Paz. “We can choose to relocate immediately, or wait to see if either the Guild or the Empire will retaliate. Given the sound defeat they just received, the Guild will most likely be disinclined to start a fight, even if they could locate us._

_But the Imperial remnant is another matter. Should they discover that we exist in more numbers than they had believed, they may risk allocating some of their forces to our extermination; especially if they think we are going to stand in the way of their goals - whatever those may be. I would like to hear from each of you on this matter. The final decision rests with myself and the council, but your votes will be taken into consideration. What say you?”_

_She took several steps off to the side to give space for others to come forward and address the assembly. One by one, they began to voice their opinions. The majority of the younger members wished to stay. They were not afraid of whatever meager forces the Empire could afford to throw at them, especially those whose blood was already up after the success they had just had against the Guild. Years of keeping underground had most of them itching for a fight. The ones who had tasted blood tonight thirsted for more._

_So too, many of the young women wished to stay as well. The Covert had been settled on Nevarro for some time - they had enough resources to comfortably support themselves and their families. Relocating was risky, especially with some of the young babies and foundlings who were being raised by the Tribe. They were more afraid of the unknowns than they were of the risks in staying put._

_One member of the council, the eldest of their group, was in favor of leaving immediately. He was too well acquainted with the vengeful nature of the Empire to feel safe where they were, and his compelling words were enough to sway a few other members who were on the fence with their decisions. In the end, one third of them voted to leave and the rest were in favor of staying - and if needs be, defending - the home they had eked out of the subterranean tunnels beneath the surface of Nevarro City._

_Jadzia dismissed them, waiting for the group to file out of the cavernous chamber. She glanced at Paz, who had remained uncharacteristically silent during the commune. He was standing off to her right side, leaning against a wall with his arms folded over his barrel chest. When the last of the others had left, he pushed off the smooth stone and made to follow them._

_“A moment, Captain Vizsla,” she called him._

_He stopped and cocked his head before altering his course and halting a few steps from her._

_“Smith?”_

_She lowered her voice considerably, all too aware of this room’s tendency to carry one’s words, “I noted you didn’t offer your own opinion tonight. Why?”_

_He closed the distance between them, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with her and tipping his head to the side. Jadzia knew he did this because he was hard of hearing - the result of years operating in the heavy infantry division with extremely loud equipment. Though his helmet helped compensate for his deficiency, he struggled to pick up on words uttered below a certain pitch. He tended to speak a bit too loudly for the same reason, a habit he made an effort to correct when he replied to her question._

_“You know my thoughts on this already. I dislike running from any fight, but I don’t like being trapped like rats in these catacombs with our enemies now aware of our presence. We have no strategic advantage down here, besides knowing the layout of the tunnels. The tight quarters nullifies their numbers, but it also makes it difficult to use our weaponry. And there are ways to attack us down here without even needing to engage us directly. The fact is, we are too vulnerable down here.”_

_"I agree. That’s why I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a special mission for me.”_

_"Name it,” his gravelly voice replied without hesitation._

_She turned her face toward him, a courtesy more than a necessity, since he could not see her expression anyway, “I want you to go topside and steal a ship to scout new locations for the Covert.”_

_“So, you are going to keep them here for now?”_

_“For the time being, yes. I can see the wisdom in both arguments. There are pros and cons to both staying and leaving. But if staying proves to be a mistake, I would not have us remain here with no recourse. If this blows over, we may yet be able to call Nevarro home. But if not, we’ll need a place to fall back to. I want options on the table if we get to that point, preferably several choices that could potentially support us. Is this satisfactory to you?”_

_Though she had never beheld his face, she could almost see his grin when he replied, “Most satisfactory.”_

_Any one of them would have jumped at the chance to be out in the open air for once, but the opportunities for them to do so were rare. Apart from gathering food and supplies on occasion, few ventured aboveground. Those who did were adept at stealth and keeping a low profile, so as not to be noticed. Vizsla had a variety of talents that made him indispensable to her - but stealth was not one of them. Procuring the ship without being noticed would be the most difficult part of the job for him. Once he had it, he should be fine. He was an excellent pilot and he usually exercised good judgment. He did tend to be a little hot headed at times - a shortcoming of every Vizsla she had ever met - but he was a tactical genius._

_“Take whatever supplies you require from the armory. You may leave as soon as you are rested and ready,” she instructed._

_“Thank you,” he said, and there was such genuine gratitude in his voice, he sounded almost a child._

_She smiled at him, though he could not see it, “Godspeed, Captain Vizsla. I await your return with anticipation.”_

_He turned to leave, but then called back over his shoulder, “Make sure Reaver keeps the fighting core in shape while I’m gone.”_

_“Indeed.”_

_She watched until his tall form disappeared from sight, the thud of his boots receding in the darkness of the tunnels. That was the last she saw of Paz Vizsla._

Six months with not so much as a word from him. What had gone wrong? What had detained him? Jadzia hoped that he was safe, wherever he was, but it was a fool’s hope. If Vizsla had breath in his body, he would have made it back to them by now. Besides that, in their present circumstances, she was glad he had not returned, even if he had been able. He had a hard enough time being forced into hiding - he would have tolerated true captivity with even less forbearance. 

Despite his absence, things had gone well for the Covert for that half-year. The hunters from the Guild had not pursued them. No one came looking for them or bothering them. It was more difficult to procure the supplies they needed to survive without Din’s income, but they managed. 

All that changed a few days ago. The day had begun as any other day; nothing was amiss. Everyone was going about their business as usual. Jadzia had been in a common room with seven other adults, watching three children perform a complicated set of katas with short staffs.

Jadzia had stifled a yawn, feeling unusually tired. She thought perhaps she had slept badly the night before. Suddenly, one of the children had collapsed, followed shortly by the other two. Everyone in the room sprang into action, some checking the children for injuries, while the others began to suspect some sort of attack. Once they were in motion, the adults began to acutely feel the effects of whatever it was that had made the children drop. 

_Gas_ , Jadzia had realized too late, as her head began to feel light and the room started spinning.

She collapsed with the others and awoke alone in a cell. To her horror, she had been stripped of all but the last layers of her clothing: her undergarments, slim leggings, and a long strip of compression fabric that she wrapped around her torso in place of an undershirt. She was surprised to find that she was still in the catacombs, but there was no sign of any of her comrades. Rather than call out to them, she remained still and quiet, waiting for whatever came next. 

What followed was even more of a surprise to her. A man with dark skin and close cropped graying hair entered the space outside her cell. He was accompanied by two stormtroopers. He gave her food and water, introducing himself as Moff Gideon. He asked her no questions, nor answered any of hers. Instead, he attempted to make polite conversation about a myriad of topics she had no interest in: politics, history, the current state of galactic affairs. All she wanted to know was where her people were and if they were okay. 

She quickly learned that if she wanted anything from the Moff, she needed to indulge his conversations. So she did. She followed him down whatever trail he fancied, always mindful not to divulge information he was not already familiar with. He had left that first night - she assumed it was night, at least - without giving her any hint of her people’s safety. He came again in the morning with more refreshments and they began their conversations anew. They had continued thus for five days, and the only promise he made her was that he would reveal the whereabouts of her people soon. Today was the evening of the fifth day by her reckoning, and it was almost time for him to return for their evening discussion. 

She hoped he wasn’t going to drone on about the history of the Jedi and the Sith again. That topic seemed to be a particular favorite of his, but the only part that really interested her was when those stories intersected with those of Mandalore’s history. If Gideon’s knowledge of the past was in the least bit accurate, the Mandalorians had far more dealings with the Jedi and the Sith in recent years than she had been aware of. 

A faint sound caught her attention, tempting her senses to surface from her inward reflections and strain toward its source. The noises were quite distant, but they had the unmistakable percussion of a firefight. Blaster shots that were barely audible were followed by the louder reverberation from some sort of larger ordinance. The noise lasted for some minutes and then all at once, it was completely quiet. 

Though it was very difficult to mark time down here, far away from the sun’s reach as they were, Jadzia had the distinct impression that Gideon was late for their meeting. Finally, after nearly an hour, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps - more than the usual three persons. Gideon appeared in the doorway of the small room outside her cell, his usual stormtrooper detail dogging his steps. His expression was one of a man whose interest has been piqued by something noteworthy.

“I have a treat for you today, my dear,” he promised, the term of affection contrasting sharply with their current relationship.

“Another? On top of the basin and pitcher of water you gifted me with this morning?” she asked, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Oh yes, I think you’ll enjoy this one much more. I’ve brought someone to keep you company in between our little visits.”

Four more stormtroopers appeared, carrying the limp body of a man over the threshold. She eyed him warily, unable to determine much about him, besides the fact that he was tall and well built. A strange thought niggled at her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. 

One of Gideon’s guards kept his rifle trained on her, instructing her to retreat to the back of the cell. She complied, knowing it was futile to attempt an escape now. Another stormtrooper unlocked the door to her prison and held it open for the other three. With some effort, they managed to haul the stranger’s dead weight inside. Dropping him rather unceremoniously, they kicked him onto his back and retreated quickly. Another deposited two food trays inside, securing the door once more behind him.

“I assume you know who that is,” Moff Gideon stated.

“You ere, I have never seen this man in my life.”

It was not a lie, she had never seen his face. She ran her eyes over him, looking for any clue as to his identity. He was tall, approaching six and half feet. He could not be less than two hundred pounds of solid muscle. His uncovered torso revealed a mosaic of scars and fresh bruises. The old injuries were concentrated in places that were not generally life-threatening, consistent with someone who kept their vitals protected. She assumed he must be one of hers, but if she had seen him, it had only been in his armor. 

Her gaze returned to his face. His brown hair hung past his jaw, flecks of grey highlighting his temples. Dark eyebrows arched over his lowered lids, furrowed even in his unconscious state. His face was square, but it was framed by high, sharp cheekbones and a slightly clefted chin. His mouth was firm and thin-lipped. He was handsome, in a hard-bitten sort of way. 

“Perhaps this will help you recall his identity,” Gideon suggested, tossing something on the floor in front of Jadzia’s cell.

She turned to look at it from where she stood, suppressing any visible reaction with great effort. Her niggling suspicion had been right, after all. But how? As she stared into the face of Paz Vizsla’s dark blue helmet, she felt a mixture of relief and despair. He was alive, and for that she was most grateful. But he was now trapped with her, with little hope of escape.

“You may use this to treat his injuries,” Gideon continued, nudging a small box of what she could only assume to be medical supplies near the bars of her cell. “I will leave you two to catch up once he regains consciousness. I only ask that you remind him there are consequences to crossing me. Next time, it might not be _him_ who pays the price.” 

She nodded her head slowly, the threat of his words registering with her, “Understood.”

As if nothing but congenial discourse had passed between them, Gideon flashed her a charming smile and uttered his oft spoken farewell, “Until the morrow.”

When he and the others were out of sight, Jadzia rose and retrieved the medicinals. The kit contained some compresses, bandages, bacta spray, and a packet of three pain relieving drugs - not enough to overdose. She laid out what she needed and knelt beside the Captain’s body. His chest was rising and falling at a normal rate, his breathing unlabored. Small mercies. There were some superficial abrasions on his face and body, but the purple bruise blooming on his right side was of some concern. 

She reached down and carefully prodded the angry flesh, trying to determine if the detached rib was broken or just bruised. A groan escaped Vizsla’s mouth, drawing her attention back to his face. When he stirred no further, she went back to ascertaining the severity of his injuries. His bloodied torso was further begrimed by dirt and sweat, though the scent clinging to him bespoke a recent bath, as did his clean shaven face. She decided the best course of action would be to wash away whatever she could before treating his injuries. None of them presented immediate danger to him, but an infection might. She retrieved her water basin and set to work scrubbing his skin. She washed his arms, chest and abdomen first, applying bacta spray and adhesive bandages where needed. Using a fresh cloth dipped in clean water, she cleaned his face. 

As the damp rag cooled his skin, his expression shifted - his eyebrows drawing closer together and the corners of his mouth turning down. A moment later, his eyes slowly cracked open, and Jadzia found herself staring back at him, unsure of what to say or do. Though she knew his identity now, he was as yet unaware of hers. She needed him to know it was her before she went any further.

“It’s good to see you back, Captain. Though these are not the circumstances I would have preferred.”

He blinked, recognition slowly spreading across his features, “Smith?”

“Indeed,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light. “Though at this point, I’m not sure it's worth the effort to conceal my name any further.” _If only that were true._

He appraised her with one good eye, owing that the other was nearly swollen shut. Jadzia allowed him a moment to become accustomed to her features, reconciling them with the woman he had known for ten years. She searched his face the same way, unabashedly lingering over his eyes to try to determine if they were grey or green; finally deciding they were a little of both. 

“So are you going to tell me your real name, or not?” he growled.

She smiled, “Jazdia.”

“Jadzia,” he repeated, tasting the word. He frowned, “I’ve only heard that name once before.”

“Not surprising. I don’t think it very common,” she said, a little too hastily.

He watched her a moment, then lifted his head to get a better view of the room, “Are we still under the city?”

“Yes.”

“Where are the others?” he asked, a note of trepidation in his voice.

“I don’t know. I have asked every day since I’ve been in this cell, but Moff Gideon will only say he will inform me of their location soon.”

“How long have you been down here?”

“Five days, near as I can tell.”

“How did they capture you?”

She sighed, running a hand through her chestnut hair, “Exactly as you feared - they defeated us without directly engaging the Covert. They pumped gas into the underground. We didn’t know it until we were already succumbing to the effects, and by then, it was too late. I fell unconscious in one of the common areas and awoke here in this cell.”

Paz nodded slowly, then rolled away from her to his left side, using his arm to leverage himself up. He grunted in pain, and Jadzia grabbed his other wrist to help him into a sitting position.

“You should conserve your strength as much as possible,” she advised. “They only feed me twice a day, and not much at that.”

“Well I’m not getting up to start an exercise routine,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “I just wanted off that damn cold floor.”

“We need to wrap up those ribs,” she said, eyeing the ugly bruise on his side.

“You have something to wrap them with?”

“Right here,” she said, gesturing to the fabric wound around her torso.

His eyes followed her hands as she began to loosen the material where it was fastened around her middle. He reached out to arrest the movements of her fingers, his enormous hand practically swallowing both of hers.

“It’s okay, leave it.”

She looked up at him, surprised to find the hint of a blush on his cheeks and nose. She grinned at him when she realized why.

“I have another garment beneath this, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wasn’t about to strip naked just to give your ribs some relief.”

He made a sheepish face, “Oh. Right, okay.”

Stifling a laugh she retrieved her washcloth once more and wrung it out, “You have dirt all over your back that will irritate you under the bindings. Let me wash it first.”

He nodded, allowing her to clean him without protest. His back was so broad, she imagined that it must be difficult for him to reach the center of it, even without the injured ribs. When she was finished, she unwound the bindings from her own body and moved back around to face him. Handing one end to him, she indicated his uninjured left side and instructed him to hold it there. She made an awkward attempt to reach around him, but when her arms proved a bit too short to do so without plastering herself to him, she decided to just walk the fabric around his torso. She circled him five times, then tied the end she held to the part in his hand. Checking that it was snug and secure, she sat back down on the floor.

He tested the stretch of the fabric, seemingly satisfied with its compression, “Good thing you had this. Why do you wear it instead of sharkskin?”

She shrugged, “That’s what women wore under their armor in the old days before we had compression material. I like the feel of it better, even though it doesn’t breathe as well. Though I admit, I prefer the sharkskin leggings. I’m surprised they didn’t strip you down to your under armor as well.”

Paz looked down at his legs, still clad in the thick material that his armor magnetized to, “Probably because I’m not wearing any. You and I are opposite. I like the sharkskin shirts, but I can’t deal with the leggings.”

“You find them uncomfortable?”

“No. I find them completely ridiculous. No man alive looks good in a pair of skin-tight stretchy pants.”

She laughed, “I suppose that’s true. I’m just surprised they let you in here with all those electromagnets stitched into your pants. Not that they’re useful without a steady power source.”

“I guess Gideon thought it would be better than dragging me in here bare-assed.”

Jadzia made an effort to keep her mind from contriving a mental image of _that_. She retrieved their food trays from the floor and handed him his plate.

“So why do you think they are keeping us alive?” Paz asked, scooting a bit to the side, so he could lean up against the wall of the cell and eat his meal.

“I don’t know. Perhaps they think if they keep us together, our discussions will give them useful information they don’t already possess. With that in mind, do you think you could cryptically answer an inquiry into how your mission went?”

“It was a catastrophic failure,” he replied, tipping his head back against the wall with an audible _thunk_. “There’s not anything else to report.”

“What took you so long in getting back?” she asked.

“It’s not a very interesting story,” was his only reply as he stared at the stone ceiling.

“Do you have somewhere to be, Captain? Or are you concerned with revealing too much to our hosts?”

“There isn’t much that would help them. You really want to know?”

“I do,” she said, scooting across the floor to sit next to him, forcing the meager contents of her meal over her tongue one morsel at a time.

He lowered his chin and glanced sidelong at her before fixing his gaze forward, “Not long after I took off with the...acquired ship...I realized I was being tailed. I tried skip-jumping through a few systems to lose them, but the piece-of-junk hyperdrive engine didn’t take to that too well. The motivator started leaking on me and I needed to find a place to make repairs. I set down on a moon in the...it doesn’t matter where...I landed on a moon in a less-traveled space sector, let’s just say that. It was uninhabited, but I had everything I needed on board to fix the leak - at least well enough to make one more jump. 

There wasn’t much in the way of food on the ship, so when I spotted some local animals grazing at the edge of the meadow where I set down, I went out to hunt up some dinner. I was gone for less than fifteen minutes. But my pursuers were closer behind me than I thought. They had a gunship with enough firepower to keep me pinned down while they docked with my ship. If I wasn’t so angry at myself for leaving before I had finished repairing it, I would have to admit it was an impressive stunt - they were in and out in less than two minutes. And I was left stranded. At least I took my weapons with me, or else I would have really been fragged. The predators in those forests were no joke.”

“How long were you stuck there?”

“I got out four days ago.”

“How did you get away?”

“Well, I didn’t stay in one place too long. I made a rough grid as I went and searched each area before moving on to the next. There was plenty of freshwater streams and game, so I had that going for me. I spent five months doing that. Finally I stumbled on an old rebel supply cache. There wasn’t much left of it, but there was a long-range communications array. It was in bad shape, but I managed to salvage enough from the scrap that was left around to get it working again. I set it up to send out a repeating binary signal on a universal distress frequency. I wasn’t sure who would respond, so I set up camp a little away from the cache. 

Two weeks later, a New Republic U-Wing landed to investigate. There were only three of them on board - just a patrol group passing through. I thought about killing them and taking the ship, but decided against it.”

“You surrendered to them?”

“I didn’t go down unarmed, but they heard me out without trying to shoot me. I told them my situation - more or less. I said I was a bounty hunter. My ship was damaged in a firefight and when I set down to make repairs, it was stolen by scavengers who spotted me go down. They agreed to give me a ride to the nearest space depot. 

It took me a couple more days to hop transports back to this sector. I found an old freighter bringing in a food shipment to Nevarro. I saw the Imps before we set down and managed to hide myself before I was spotted. I didn’t really have a plan beyond that besides getting down here to find out if you were alright. But I didn’t get very far into the tunnels before I ran into a patrol. I cut through them without much trouble, but then they just started pouring in from everywhere like roaches. I figured if you had been captured instead of killed, they would take me to wherever the rest of you were...so I surrendered.”

Jadzia looked up at him from where she sat next to his shoulder. His eyes were still fixed ahead of him, but the muscles in his jaw were working back and forth, as if he were grinding his teeth together. She was deeply surprised that he had allowed himself to be taken alive by Imperials, knowing they would strip him of his armor. The Paz Vizsla she knew in the past would have never permitted such a dishonor. As if reading her thoughts, he turned his face toward her and took a full breath, wincing a little when his ribs protested the expansion. 

“I couldn’t let it end without knowing if you were alive or dead. I would rather live in shame with the rest of our people than die a warrior’s death alone in this tomb.”

She nodded, “I understand. I was horrified when I awoke without my armor. But I’ve come to realize something in these last few days...Honor is a gift one gives themself, it’s not something that can be bestowed or withdrawn by others. Defeat is not the same as dishonor. As long as I am alive, I can continue to do all I can to help our people. Like you, I need to know their fate.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, weighing her words. When he nodded, she wasn’t sure if it was in agreement with her sentiments on honor, or if he was merely agreeing that he needed to know about the others. It didn’t really matter, she decided as she set her empty plate aside, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. It took her some time to reconcile her past beliefs with the situation she found herself in now. But her philosophies had shifted several times over the course of her thirty-eight years, as happens when one grows in wisdom and maturity. She was not so entrenched in her ideals that she couldn’t be open to other ways of thinking. The fact was, she was alive - _they_ were alive - and that was what mattered the most. She felt a fresh wave of relief wash over her knowing that at least one of her people was alive, even more potent for the fact that he was right next to her. 

Jadzia had been raised to be a hard woman, never showing weakness or insecurity to anyone. She was not affectionate. She was not vulnerable. She did not let others see her soft spots, though she never deluded herself into believing she had none. Though she cared for each and every member of the Tribe, she did not allow them to get too close to her. She was a leader, a source of wisdom, and rarely a motherly figure - but she performed all those roles with an air of detachment, never getting too close to any one person in particular. 

But even though she was determined to be fair and equal with all, there were certainly some people that she trusted and relied on more than others. There were only two people in the Covert whom she would describe as “friends”: a woman named Raina who had adopted two foundlings...and Paz. Though he could be hard-headed at times, his place in a prominent House had ensured a well-rounded education and a cultural knowledge that she could relate to - having been raised in an upper-class family herself. Not that she could tell him that. Or could she? She shook her head, _Not yet._

The small movement had caused her cheek to brush his shoulder. He leaned closer to her, misinterpreting the movement as a desire to lay her head against him. She opened her mouth to correct him or perhaps apologize for the accidental contact, but then shut it. Could she allow such a thing? Would he perceive it as weakness if she leaned on him? He was her subordinate. But right now, they were just cellmates - possibly the only two left alive after the Empire’s most recent culling of the Mandalorian people. And he was her friend, wasn’t he? 

She looked up at him again, finding his grey-green eyes on hers. His face was unreadable, he looked neither interested in deepening the connection between them, nor repelled by it. He was simply there, ready to serve in whatever capacity she needed him for, as always. Steady. Reliable. Trustworthy. A true friend.

She gave in and leaned her head on his arm, careful not to put enough weight against him that would require him to push opposite. 

“Paz?”

“Hmm?” he rumbled.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry that you’re trapped - but there is a selfish part of me that is relieved you’re here alongside me.”

“Well, if I’ve got to be captured, humiliated, stripped down, and thrown in a cell - I suppose you’re about the only person I’d prefer to be with.”

“Are you saying you prefer my company?” she asked.

He chuckled, then groaned, “Ow. It hurts to laugh.”

“I note you didn’t answer,” she teased him.

“I have always enjoyed your company,” he replied. “And - if you’ll permit an obtuse observation - you do vastly improve the scenery in here. 

“I suppose I can’t fault you as long as it’s an honest answer.”

“Oh, I’m always honest,” he replied. 

Jadzia was equal parts cautious and pleased to discover he found her attractive. It had been ten years since anyone had seen her unclad in armor, and what little vanity she possessed was appreciative that he thought her pretty. But she didn’t want to do anything to upset the easy camaraderie between them either. She was reluctant to withdraw from him though; partly because she didn’t want to make much ado over a harmless compliment and also because she was tired, and his presence was warm and comforting. He made no other comments that would suggest he was flirting with her, and their conversation turned to other things.

She spoke to him of what he had missed while he was gone. She told him that Reaver had taken well to his new responsibility of training the fighting core. He had worked them hard with their normal regimen, but he had also ventured out and tried new techniques, with varying degrees of success. But he learned from his failures and adjusted in kind, always keeping a positive outlook. One of the older foundlings had begun training with the adults and had shown remarkable aptitude with targeted weaponry.

“He could really benefit from a little one-on-one time with you, I think,” she said. “He does well with long distance and mid-range when he has time to calculate his mark. He’s less confident with shooting closer targets though. He’s still good, but he needs to learn to rely less on the helmet’s targeting system and more on his own vision for close-range opponents. I think he just needs someone to help build up his self-confidence - someone he admires.”

Paz was quiet for a long time, “You talk about it like it’s a certainty that I’ll get the opportunity to teach him. We don’t even know if any of them are alive.”

She drew in a shaky breath, then put a little steel in her voice to compensate, “Until I know otherwise, I am going to assume that they are prisoners, the same as us.”

“Why keep us separated then?”

“It is standard practice to keep officers and leadership apart from their subordinates in order to gain leverage over either group. Gideon has a plan for us - I just haven’t quite figured out what it is. But I’m not going to give into despair. This morning I thought _you_ were probably dead, but I was wrong. I’m not going to make the same mistake and assume that their deaths are a forgone conclusion either...I can’t,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper. As close as they were sitting, he still heard her.

“You’re right. I guess I’m just more pessimistic than you are.”

“I doubt that.”

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

“Hard to say. I am feeling a little weary though.”

“You should go get some rest,” he said.

“You take the cot - I’ll be fine here.”

“Yeah, that’s going to happen,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“You’re hurt,” she pointed out. 

He sighed in exasperation and leaned forward, breaking the contact between them. Pulling himself to his feet, he trudged over to the cot. Jadzia figured he must be in a lot of pain to have given up the fight so easily. She fully expected to argue with him for a good five minutes before making him acquiesce. He was notoriously bull-headed about things of this nature - always putting the needs of others before his own.

So it should not have come as any surprise when the threadbare mattress that cushioned the cot came flying across the cell at her head. She barely had time to put her hands up before it pummelled her, knocking her sideways. A plume of dust puffed into the dimly lit room around her, and she had to stifle a sneeze. 

“What the hell, Vizsla?!” she protested, throwing the mattress back onto the floor.

He stalked back toward her, using his boot to nudge the thin piece of bedding up against the wall next to her. He gingerly lowered himself into a sitting position on the upper part of the cushion, putting the small pillow she had been given between his head and the stone wall. 

“Lie down and get some rest,” he said in a tone that would brook no refusal.

She sat down on the other side of the mattress, her posture mirroring his. His eyes were already closed, but he made an impatient sound deep in his throat. 

“Just lie down, please,” he repeated, patting his left thigh.

“Paz, I…”

“What are you afraid of? I’m not going to try anything with you; you know that, right? I don’t have an angle - I’m just trying to make us as comfortable as possible.”

“I’m just...not good at this sort of thing,” she admitted.

“What? Sleeping?”

“Sleeping with my head in a man’s lap,” she clarified.

“Alright,” he said, pulling the pillow out from behind his head and handing it to her. 

“You lie down on the mattress, I’ll sit over there,” he pointed to the opposite wall.

“No, it’s fine. Take the pillow back. I’m okay.”

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, his gruff voice softer than normal.

“Of course I trust you. It’s just been so long since I’ve been close to someone like this. I haven’t been seen without my armor in ten years. I haven’t shared a room with anyone since we came here. I know this isn’t true intimacy, but it’s been such a long time since I’ve shared a bed with another person - I just don’t know how to be so vulnerable anymore. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I don’t trust myself. Who knows how long we’ll be down here? Am I going to fall asleep every night like this? What if I become accustomed to it? What if I don’t want to give it up when we get out? What if --”

“What if you stop overthinking it, and just go to sleep in whatever position you find most comfortable?” he cut her off. “I’ve never known you to be vulnerable for a single solitary moment since I met you. I’ve never seen you be affectionate with anyone but the smallest kids. I’ve never seen you laid low by the pain of loss that had most of us crippled after the Purge. I’ve never seen you do or say anything that came across as weak or needy. 

You are the strongest woman - the strongest _person_ \- I have ever met in my entire life, and I’ve known some hard people. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I’m not going to think less of you if you lean on my shoulder. I’m not going to think less of you if you use my leg as a pillow. Hell, I wouldn’t think less of you if you let yourself show some fragging emotion for once! Cry. Yell. Get angry. Feeling things doesn’t make you weak.”

“My father would have disagreed with you,” she said quietly.

“So would mine. But they aren’t here, are they? We are. We made our own Way. We faced things they never did and we survived them. So pardon me if I don’t give a womp rat’s ass what they think.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I’m tired of living in my father’s shadow. He’s dead. I’m not. Move your arm,” she commanded, collapsing on the mattress next to him and resting her head on his thigh. 

He snorted, “There she is.”

She drew her knees up and shivered, more because of the strange thrill of freedom that was coursing her blood - though she was lying in a jail cell - than due to the cold air. Still, it _was_ damp down here, and her sharkskin pants and small brassiere did little to ward off the chill. She made no effort to protest when Paz reached over her and rubbed up and down her arm from elbow to shoulder, the friction of his rough hands working warmth into her skin. His massive body generated far more heat than hers, and she soaked it up greedily. She hadn’t felt this warm in... _years_. 

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. Goodnight, Paz.”

“Night Sm...Jadzia.”

* * *

For the first time since she had woken in the cell, Jadzia had slept through the night. No nightmares haunted her dreams - neither the old, familiar ones, or the new apparitions spawned from recent trauma. She woke feeling rested and rejuvenated. 

And hot. Paz Vizsla wasn’t just warm, he was a living, breathing space heater. Her hair was plastered to her neck where she was lying against him. She arched her back and stretched her legs out slowly. Her companion’s soft snores were arrested as he regained wakefulness. His hand had gotten caught in her hair at some point during the night, and he quickly disentangled his fingers from it. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at him, smiling lightly.

“Good morning, Captain Vizsla.”

“Can we just agree to stay on a first name basis while we’re cellmates? Especially since your first name is the only one you’ve provided me with.”

She swallowed hard and looked away, “Yes, you’re right. In these close quarters, formalities are rather absurd.”

“Good, because I need to piss real bad. How’s that for throwing out formalities?”

She laughed, turning her head back to him, “Just try not to spray the whole grate, I’m next.”

“I’m six, three - there’s going to be some overspray.”

“So kneel,” she suggested, shrugging.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m certainly not. I can hit the right spot without making a mess, and I lack the ability to aim. So I see no reason why you can’t accomplish as much,” she replied, smiling sweetly up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, “Women.”

She sat up so he could stand. Once he vacated the mattress, she dragged it into the middle of the room and faced the bars while he attended to his business. The cell was equipped with a small grate at the back that emptied into a drainage area that carried away waste. It was crude, but that was how they had designed it, so she supposed she couldn’t complain just because she was the current occupant. 

“Look, I’m _sitting_ down. You happy? Can’t spray the grate if I’m hanging below the bars, right?”

“I did _not_ need that much information,” she protested, standing on the mattress and bending down to her toes.

Ignoring his gravelly chuckle, she reached her arms through her legs and wrapped them around the outside of her calves until her palms were flat on the tops of her feet, keeping her eyes directed at the floor. She arched, stretching her legs and lower back. She slowly disentangled her arms and raised them above her head, reaching her splayed fingers up to the ceiling. She raised to her toes and angled her hips outward. She heard the scrape of his boots as he stood up and zipped his pants closed. Knowing it was safe to look, she arched her back until her arms dropped to the floor behind her, palms down on the mattress. 

Paz turned around, freezing when he saw her, “Were you like that the whole time?”

“Of course not! Trust me, I’m not interested in watching you take a leak, not even to confirm that you were actually sitting down.”

He made a face at her, “That’s weird.”

“This? This is nothing,” she said, pushing her legs up over her arched body and landing upright. “You should see all the positions I can contort myself into.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, “Okay. Show me.”

She blinked. She hadn’t actually thought he would take her up on that. 

“Oh. Okay. I also need to um...do that...first,” she finished awkwardly, indicated the grate.

“Take your time,” he said, turning his back to her and sitting on the mattress.

She made her way to the back of the cell and hesitated. She had gotten over the horror of relieving herself where she was in plain view of the surveillance cameras that were undoubtedly monitoring the room. But this was different. He was in the room, a few feet from her. Her bladder was full, but she was seized by a sudden sense of embarrassment. 

_Get a hold of yourself, Jadzia. You’ve been in tight quarters like this before._

If they were going to be cellmates for the foreseeable future, she was going to have to do things even more embarrassing than pee in the same room with him. Pushing those distasteful thoughts aside, she focused on her current obstacle. 

She turned around and slid her leggings down, squatting over the grate. Behind her, Paz started drumming a rhythm on the stone floor with his fingertips. It was distracting her, reminding her of his presence - which she would just as soon forget. The more she focused on letting her bladder loose, the harder it was to do so. 

_Come on! Just pee!_

The drumming continued behind her.

“Could you stop that?” she asked, her voice a bit irritated.

The sound stopped immediately. 

_Finally, quiet._

She tried again, trying to picture the sound of running water to inspire her.

“Shy bladder?” Paz asked.

“Yes! If you must know. Now stop talking, I’m trying to pretend you’re not here.”

She heard the faint sound of him exhaling rapidly through his nose and realized he was trying not to laugh out loud. Annoyed with herself as much as with him, she returned her focus to the task at hand. Seconds passed. The more they stretched out, the more irritated she became. The more irritated she became, the less she felt the need to pee. But she knew once she stood up and started walking around, she would feel the need to go again. 

“What if I hum?”

“What?”

“I’ll hum a tune or something. That way, you don’t have to be embarrassed that I’m listening to you pee, because I won’t be able to hear it. Not that I can hear it anyway, but it might help you.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

_Absolute quiet isn’t working; mind as well try this._

He started humming a vaguely familiar tune. For someone who didn’t hear very well, he was good at staying on key. She began to relax by degrees as he increased the volume of his song. He added a few words, snatches of broken lines here and there. When he got to the chorus, Jadzia found herself humming with him. It was an old ballad about a bounty hunter who was sent to collect a female thief. He follows her from place to place, but every time he gets close, she eludes him. He begins to enjoy the hunt more than the prospect of the reward. After some time, she gets wise to him and it becomes a game between the two of them. 

“Now it’s been a month, or three or four,

And I’ve not earned a cred.

But I’ve never had a chase,

As fun as th’ one you’ve led.

So darlin’, keep on runnin’ if you want,

I aim to finish what I start.

There never was a prize worth more,

Than the thief who stole my heart.”

By the time he had finished singing the chorus, she had finished her business. She drew her leggings up, then poured some water from the pitcher to wash her hands. As she walked up behind him, she joined in with the chorus again as he sang it, finding the harmony to the drawled lyrics. He smiled, but didn’t stop singing until he finished the last lines. 

“You’ve got some decent singing chops,” he said, grinning up at her.

“You’re not exactly tone dead yourself,” she replied.

“Not tone deaf, just deaf,” he joked.

She was used to his self-deprecating humor, “Is it really that bad?”

“It’s harder without the helmet.”

“Can you read lips?”

“No, I can’t read lips,” he scoffed. “I’ve been living with a bunch of people who all wear helmets! Your’s are the first lips I’ve actually looked at in ten years.” 

He looked at her mouth as he said it, as if to emphasize his point.

“Well, you saw those New Republic patrol people without helmets, right?”

“Two Rhodians and a fat guy.”

She laughed, “What about the freighter pilot?”

“He was an Ithorian - he didn’t even _have_ lips.”

“You must have seen humans at the space depot.”

“Like I said, you are the first person I’ve really looked at - not just seen in passing.”

She nodded, “Well maybe you can learn while we’re in here. It might be a good skill to pick up until we can get your helmet back.

“Okay, but show me all your weird contortionist stuff first, I’m intrigued by that. I can’t stretch worth a shit, so things like that fascinate me.”

“You know, if you practiced a little every day, even you could become a lot more flexible.”

“Why?” he asked, getting up from the mattress so she could use it to pad her exercise. 

“It’s healthier. You increase blood flow. You risk less injury when you’re building muscle if you properly stretch them. There’s lots of reasons.”

She did a few simple exercises to warm up her muscles and then some basic stretches. She was a little self-conscious doing this in front of an audience, but she was confident in her abilities. She began with a few folds and then gradually moved into various arm stands. Each pose was distinct, but they flowed from one into the other. She had various sets that she tended to do depending on the day, but she strung several sets together this morning to showcase her talent. When her arms began to protest, she switched to more leg intensive poses. Finally, she warmed down with a couple more stretches from the flat of her stomach and chest. 

Paz watched her quietly, not offering any commentary, but whenever she looked in his direction, he was studying her closely. When she was done she stood up and lightly shook out her limbs. He sat across from her with his back to the bars, knees folded and his hands in his lap.

“That was...impressive,” he said finally.

“You want to do some simple stretches with me?” she asked.

“Yeah, maybe when my ribs are a bit less tender.”

“Oh, let me put more bacta spray on them.”

“I can do it later.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. Unwrap them.”

He stood up, turning his back to her and removing the bindings. She retrieved the medical kit and took out the spray. She sprayed his ribs and a scrape on his shoulder.

“Turn toward me,” she instructed. “Close your eye.”

He complied, letting her spritz his chest and face, dabbing any remnants of dried blood away. She wrapped his ribs again and took a step back, surveying him.

“Your eye looks much better this morning. The swelling has gone down quite a bit.”

“Mmhmm. It feels better. When do we eat?”

“Gideon will be here before long. Listen, when he gets here, try not to antagonize him too much. I’ve been trying to build some rapport with him over the last few days. I’m hoping he’ll reveal what happened to the others today.”

“I’ll be a good boy,” Paz promised, before adding, “For now.”

She knew that was the most she would get out of him, so she let it be, “Do you want to try that lip reading thing?”

He shrugged, “Why not. There’s not a whole hell of a lot of other things to occupy us in here. What do you do to keep busy?”

“Think. Plan. Regret.”

“Sounds boring. Say something to me without making any sounds.”

 _“Okay. Like what?”_ she mouthed.

He cocked his head to the side and watched her mouth more closely, “Say it again. Slower.”

_“Oookaaay. Like whaaaat?”_

“Like...when did you first start all that stretching stuff? Before or after the Purge?”

_“After. It helps me meditate.”_

“It helps you what?”

_“Meditate.”_

“I’m not getting that one.”

“Meditate,” she said out loud.

“Oh. Okay, just talk at a normal pace. I’m not going to learn if you're over-enunciating everything.”

_“Tell me about the moon you were trapped on.”_

“Tell you about the...what?”

_“Moon.”_

He stepped closer to her, as if that would help him “hear” what she was saying, “Boom?”

She shook her head, _“Mmmoooon.”_

He licked his lips and shook his head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Why?” she asked aloud. “You were doing fine. You just need to give it time.”

“I can’t focus.”

She frowned, gesturing to the empty room, “What’s distracting you?”

“Your mouth. I’m not paying attention to what you’re saying, I’m just enjoying the way it looks when you say it. I don’t know, maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone’s face. I could honestly watch you say ‘moon’ all day though.”

She balked, “You knew what I said?”

“Yeah, I got it the first time - it’s not a hard word. But the way your lips pucker on the ‘m’ is kriffing adorable,” he grinned.

Jadzia bristled, “You’re right. _Let’s_ do something else. How about I meditate, and you do something else - silently?”

“Are you actually mad at me?” he asked, the grin falling from his mouth.

“A bit, yes. I’m trying to help you, and you’re making fun of me. If you don’t want to learn this, just say so.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you, Jadzia,” he sighed. “Look, you’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s try again, I won’t get distracted.”

She was about to reply when the distant thud of a door closing caught her attention. Her eyes darted to the entrance and she took a moment to compose herself, finger combing her hair and throwing it back over her shoulder. Paz did not hear the door, but followed her cues, moving to stand beside her.

In the past, he might have stood a little behind her as a subordinate, or in front of her as a barrier. _But in this cell, we are equals_ , she pondered as his arm brushed her shoulder. There was something comforting in that. Gideon had a way of unnerving her, though she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Having Paz there was reassuring, and she knew she could rely on him to see things that she missed.

Gideon walked into the space outside the cell, four stormtroopers crowding in behind him. Two in the back were carrying food.

“Step back,” one of them instructed.

Jadzia complied, touching Paz’s wrist when he hesitated to obey. He slowly retreated a few paces, watching the two troopers who approached the door with a hungry look in his eyes. Jazia guessed it wasn’t the food he was wanting to bite into most. But true to his word, he kept his peace, allowing them to collect the empty trays from last night and lower two new ones on their side of the door before shutting it behind them. When the magnetic locks engaged once more, he slowly approached the bars, his eyes on Gideon. She approached alongside him, facing the Moff where he stood a few feet opposite. 

“Moff Gideon,” she said by way of greeting. “Thank you for the meal.”

“You’re most welcome,” he replied amicably. “I take it you and Captain Vizsla are well rested this morning.”

Gideon was the same height as Jadzia, who stood at five feet, seven inches. Paz already had eight inches on both of them, but when he casually lifted his hand over his head to lean it against the bars, she felt dwarfed by him.

“Very rested, thank you,” he answered for her, his voice low and even.

She glanced at him, warily watching for any signs of aggression. She reminded herself that Paz was a seasoned warrior, he wasn’t a kid anymore. Yes, he had a temper, but he wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t make a useless show of violence from behind these bars. He was not above posturing, however. She observed him as he stared back at Gideon, the corner of his mouth hitched up in a small smile. He wrapped his fingers around the thick cylindrical bars, tightening them just enough to flex the considerable muscles of his arm and chest. Even without his armor, he cut an imposing figure.

Jadzia knew such a display was pointless. She appreciated the effort that went into achieving such a figure, but Gideon was uninterested in such things. The Moff cared more about how often one exercised their brain than the rest of their body. Which was why she was doubly glad for the show Paz was putting on. Gideon would write him off as a muscle-bound moron, and direct his attention to her. Meanwhile, Paz - who was not a moron by any stretch of the imagination - would have ample opportunity to observe their adversary closely. 

Gideon gave his newest prisoner a cursory glance, “You seem to have responded well to your companions' ministrations.”

Paz hitched one shoulder, “I’ve always been a fast healer. That, and your boys here don’t pack as much of a punch as they think they do.”

The Moff gave him a small smile, “They’re effective enough for what I need them for. They brought you down, did they not?” 

“True. But you lost quite a few of them...a dozen by my count. I imagine they’re a little harder to replace nowadays.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised, Captain Vizsla. There are still plenty of people in the galaxy willing to serve the Empire, in one capacity or another. But enough about that. Sit, eat,” he invited, gesturing to the trays of food. 

“Moff Gideon,” Jadzia addressed him. “Do you bring word of the rest of our people?”

“Alas, I cannot reply to your question in full - but I can divulge this much: in the next forty-eight hours, you will have your answer. Everything will fall into its proper place very shortly, and your patience will be rewarded. I believe you will find the answers you seek most surprising.”

_Surprising? Why?_

“What news from Nevarro City?” she asked instead.

“Oh, the Guild is a bit consternated with our current arrangement, but they have remained acquiescent to our authority. It seems after your people thinned their ranks some months back, they are not as eager to engage in direct confrontations. So really, I have you to thank for their cooperation.”

This was new. He had never mentioned the fight between the Guild and the Tribe before - perhaps because he had been unaware of it. Or maybe he knew all along and he was only bringing it up now to see if she would offer him something he did not yet know about it. Either way, she would not reveal any additional information.

“The Bounty Hunter’s Guild has never been one to openly resist any form of government. If they can work with it, they will. And if they cannot, they will find a way to work around it. It is their way.”

“Very true. But I have noted that the Guild does not seem overly fond of their new official government - if you could call that pitiful band of rebels a government. One would think that bounty hunters would have quite a lot of business under a regime that claims to cleanse the galaxy of its lawless scum.”

Jadzia was not interested in defending the New Republic. Though it was attempting to restore the system of governance that had served the Old Republic and Galactic Republic for millennia, there was much yet to be done to mop up the mess that the Empire had made. Furthermore, the New Republic was led by war-weary idealists, who craved peace more than anything else. She did not believe that they had the fortitude to hold on to their power. The Empire would return in one form or another, eventually. 

But here, in the Outer Rim, life was less affected by the shifts of power that caused drastic upheaval to the Inner Core. And there was still plenty of business to be had for the Bounty Hunter’s Guild.

“The ‘lawless scum’, as you put it, are still out there for the taking,” she replied. “However, rebuilding a government takes time and money. If the Guild is so desperate for work, perhaps they should lower their base fees and be willing to work for the small jobs. A union that prices themselves above the market’s capacity is not going to thrive.”

This was the sort of economic and political drivel that Gideon enjoyed. She couldn’t care less about such things, but she knew enough to hold a conversation about it. Din had been a member of the Guild, after all. Because he was the best in the business, he could charge exorbitant prices. But he was also willing to work any job, even the low paying ones. Much of his income went to helping support the Tribe. They had other means of generating capital, but he was their primary source of credits for basic needs. 

“Indeed, you are correct. These are hard times. Under the Empire, the Guild was known to be the elite of the galaxy. Now, they’ll accept membership from just about anyone, merely to fill their ranks. The New Republic has drained much of the galaxy dry to fund their ‘reconstruction’ efforts. Meanwhile, they employ cut-rate bounty hunters who aren’t worth their salt to gather up the rubbish. Poverty abounds. If the Guild wishes to survive, it will simply have to adjust to the new norm.”

Jadzia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was all a load of propagandist bantha shit. The Empire had only been gone for half a decade, and they had left plenty of poverty and destruction in the wake of their twenty-three year reign. They only enriched those most loyal to them, and did so by strip-mining the resources of others to feed, employ, and equip their military. Mandalore was no exception. As their current situation made quite clear, not all of the Imperial remnants had accepted defeat, making the galaxy’s recovery even more slow and painful. The New Republic had its faults, but it was not the cause of the Guild’s lack of income. 

But she couldn’t afford to alienate Gideon now by telling him what she really thought. She still needed information from him, and she would not get it by being honest with her opinions about his precious Empire. She wouldn’t lie outright by voicing her agreement, but nor would she debate with him. 

“Governments rise and fall; the rich rise and fall with them. The poor often remain so. Those in the middle - like the Guild - must learn to adapt.”

“With few exceptions,” he agreed. “Which class would you put your own people in prior to the Purge?”

She considered how to answer him. This was dangerous territory to be in with him, especially with Paz in the room. She was anxious to keep her prior life on Mandalore in the past, where it belonged. She had not given her name Gideon, as of yet, but if he had been listening in on her conversation with Paz last night, he might have pieced her true identity together. She almost regretted saying it aloud, but she had felt the need to give Paz at least that much. There was no point in fretting about it now - either he knew or he didn’t.

“The people of Mandalore were numerous enough to fall into all those classes. We were spread out across our territory, but not all of those under our control were part of our creed.”

“I understand the distinction. But surely, the ruling clans of Mandalore would be considered wealthy by any reckoning.”

“As you know, our people maintained autonomy from the Old Republic and the Galactic Republic. We ruled ourselves. The clans who rose to power kept it only as long as they could defend it. Power shifts were a regular occurrence for my people.”

“And then there were the coalitions of several clans who managed to retain power for many years, like House Vizsla,” the Moff added, shifting his gaze to Paz.

“Yes. But coalitions only birthed new coalitions. Wars escalated. The planet itself paid the price.”

“How true. Your endless warring only weakened your position. And when the Empire rose to power, you had not the strength to oppose it. United, you might have risen with us. But divided as you were, you were ripe for the plucking.”

 _He’s not wrong_ , Jadzia was forced to admit. Centuries of clan warfare had left the surface of Mandalore a toxic wasteland. The people had been relegated to living in domed cities to protect themselves from the elements. They had already killed their own planet long before the Purge - the Empire had merely finished the job. 

“A few of your people understood that in order for Mandalore to survive, alliances with the outside had to be made,” he added.

“Our people have never been isolationist.”

“Your people were expansionists, just like the Empire. You conquered and then grafted entire cultures into your own. Because you are not a race, but a creed - you enriched your bloodlines through diversity. No, you were certainly not isolationist. However, your leaders rarely made treaties with powers equal to or greater than your own. You subjugated those weaker than yourselves and remained isolated from the Galactic Republic - who was content to allow you to remain autonomous. 

The Empire, on the other hand, was not so lenient. We strove for a united galaxy. The might of Mandalore could not be ignored. When Darth Maul took advantage of the chaos of the Clone Wars to seize control of your government from the shadows - Palpatine could not ignore it. Though there were a few who did not seem to mind a non-Mandalorian ruling. 

Your father seemed rather loyal to Maul. It did not take him long to realize he had backed the wrong fathier, though.”

Jadzia schooled her features, despite the pounding of her heart against her ribcage. 

_He knew._

Beside her, Paz stirred for the first time since this discussion had begun. She saw him turn to look at her from the corner of her eye, but her gaze remained locked on Gideon. Would he speak the name she had been desperate to leave behind her? Gideon was watching her closely, no doubt trying to gauge her reaction.

“He proved to be a man capable of adapting, as you described it earlier. When Maul was driven away a second time, he was willing to bend the knee to his betters - and was rewarded handsomely for it. Your family enjoyed every privilege because of his astute perceptions, did you not?” he pressed her.

There was no use in avoiding it any longer. Gideon knew who she was, and if Paz had not figured it out yet, he was about to. She had made a mistake in not telling him when she had the chance, and she was about to pay for it. The anger rising up inside her was directed more at herself than at Gideon, but it gave her a boldness she had previously stifled. 

“My family was hated by almost every clan on Mandalore,” she replied, her tone icy. “The _only_ reason we remained in power was because everyone knew the Empire would bring down its full military might if they resisted. My father ruled out of fear, not respect. Not so unusual - our history is replete with leaders who commanded through fear. But it wasn’t my father’s wrath they dreaded, it was the Empire’s. He was nothing but a figurehead - a mouthpiece for a ruler who knew nothing of our culture or values. You believe I was raised in privilege? I was raised in a prison of isolation, shunned by my own people who saw my father as the traitor he was.”

Gideon made a _tsk, tsk_ sound, “I did not expect such a speech from one raised by Gar Saxon.”

Beside her, Paz drew in a sharp breath. Jadzia closed her eyes for a moment, bracing herself for whatever came next. But he said nothing - just watched her in silence.

“You didn’t know?” Gideon asked, in mock disbelief. “Oh my, I had no idea.”

 _Liar,_ Jadzia thought, glaring at him.

“Don’t judge her too harshly, Captain Vizsla. After all, Jadzia Saxon is not responsible for her father’s actions any more than you are responsible for your uncle’s.”

“What?” Paz bit out.

“Were you not aware that Pre Vizsla enlisted the aid of the Separatists under Count Dooku and later the Shadow Collective under Darth Maul to help him achieve his coup d’etat against Duchess Satine Kryze’ lawful Mandalorian government?”

“I have never heard of Count Dooku or Darth Maul. I was nine years old when my uncle and the other members of Death Watch tried to restore our cultural heritage after the Kryze regime forced our people into total pacifism. The duchess was not fit to lead. She was so weak, her government nearly lost the capital to an alliance of criminals. Death Watch saved the people”

“That is what most were led to believe, but the truth is far more nefarious. The Hutts, Pike, and Black Sun were part of the Shadow Collective allied with Death Watch. They staged the attack on the capital so that your uncle would seem a hero when he liberated the people. After that victory, Pre Vizsla had the widespread support of the planet. He declared himself Prime Minister and assumed the title of Mand’alor. He had everything he could ever want.

Alas, he turned on the Sith Lord and lost - and was beheaded for his efforts. Maul took your clan’s legendary Darksaber for himself, murdered the Duchess, and assumed control of Mandalore. But Bo-Katan Kryze refused to accept the rule of the outsider who had killed her sister; thus yet another civil war was sparked. Maul was briefly imprisoned, but Gar Saxon led a team of super commandos to release him. He attempted to regain control of Mandalore once more, but the Republic’s Seige and the rise of the Empire put an end to that. Maul disappeared into the shadows, and Gar Saxon bent the knee to the Empire. I’m sure you’re familiar with the rest. 

The truth is, the Separatists and the Sith were just different arms of the Emperor. Your people were allying themselves with Palpatine’s pawns years before the Empire was fully realized. Gar Saxon merely continued the tradition. Just remember that when you weigh this lovely lady’s deception.”

Gideon looked from Paz to Jadzia, an expression of smug satisfaction on his face. It seemed his words were meant to clear the air between them, but Jadzia knew his true intention was to create a wider rift by reminding them of the history of House Vizsla and Clan Saxon. Though she was seething inside, she could hardly blame him for the ploy. They were enemies, after all, and she had given him everything he needed to inflict a deep wound. 

“Well, you two obviously have some things that need to be discussed. I shall leave you to it. I trust this will not dissolve into violence should my men leave you unattended?”

Paz dropped his hand from the bars and stepped back, fixing Gideon with a deadly glare, “I’m sure you would enjoy watching us tear each other apart. You’ll be disappointed.”

“You mistake me, Captain. I prefer the two of you to remain healthy and strong. You are of no use to me dead. I’ll return this evening. Captain Vizsla. Lady Saxon.”

He dipped his chin in a small bow and exited the room, his stormtroopers on his heels. Jadzia watched him go, almost wishing he would stay a little longer. But that was a coward’s sentiment. She needed to fix this. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. But when she turned to face Paz, her courage almost failed her. 

She had expected him to be angry at her - livid even - but the look on his face was one of confusion. He seemed hurt. The silence stretched out between them. Seconds. A minute. Two minutes.

 _Say something_ , she silently pleaded. _Don’t make me speak first._

“Ten years,” he said finally. “You’ve lied to me for ten years. Why?”

“I never lied to you, Paz. You never asked my name and I simply never offered it,” she said, her tone sounding more flippant than she had intended.

“A lie of omission is still a lie!” he snapped, his eyes flashing.

_There it is. There’s that temper. That’s fine. Get angry if you want - I’m angry too._

“What should I have done, then? Take yourself back to the way things were ten years ago. The Empire had just destroyed our home and slaughtered most of our people! We were scared and grieving. There were no bodies to bury, no way to know who had lived and who had died. We were scattered and leaderless. Most were angry, looking for someone - _anyone_ \- to blame. Do you recall whose name was cursed the most often? Do you?!”

“Gar Saxon,” he admitted.

“Now, if you were his child, would _you_ have offered that information to a band of grieving, angry, Mandalorians? I was scared, I admit it! I was afraid if they knew who I was, they would kill me. And I wanted to live. 

The Purge ruined everyone’s lives - all except mine. Mine was already a ruin. I had lived my entire life in shame of who I was. I resented my own family and everything they stood for. But I still played the part of the dutiful daughter. I did what I was told. I trained hard. I studied hard. When I was eighteen, I married the man my father chose for me, despite the fact that I loathed him.

The only time I ever stood up to my father was when I told him I wanted to apprentice as an armorer. He did not think it was befitting someone of my station to learn a trade. But I promised I would use my skills to fashion more advanced suits for his super commandos. So he allowed it. 

Father was killed before the Purge, but my uncle Tiber had just as much a strangle-hold on my life once he assumed headship of the Saxon clan. So when the Empire attacked, and my family was wiped out - I didn’t struggle with it as much as some others. I didn’t hate them all, they _were_ my family, but I was finally free to live how I wanted to live.”

She paused, trying to read his expression. He had retreated further back into the shadows of the cell, standing with his arms folded over his chest. He had listened to everything she said, but she could still see the anger crawling under his skin.

“I can understand you not being forthcoming with your identity at the very beginning,” he conceded. “But we elected you as our leader. _I_ stood and vouched for you.”

“I didn’t ask to be made leader.”

“You didn’t say ‘no’, either,” he growled. “Do you not think that being Gar Saxon’s daughter _might_ have been pertinent information at that point?”

“I thought about it. But my fear of being killed had been replaced by another fear.”

“What’s that?”

“Being cast out. I _finally_ had a family that I cared about. For the first time, I felt as if I belonged somewhere. I had purpose. All the things I had been trained for my entire life were finally being put to good use. My father raised me to be a leader and I had always pushed myself to excellence in everything I did. I never lived up to his expectations, but _these_ people appreciated my efforts. I don’t really believe in fate, but I did indulge the thought that maybe my true purpose was to lead my people out of the pit my father had helped drag us into.”

“So you kept your silence. And then you helped draft the guidelines that would keep your identity secret. Reveal your face to no one but family. Leave behind clan names because they don’t mean anything anymore. ‘No matter who you were, it doesn’t matter’, you said. ‘We are now one Tribe’. Did you really come up with all that to keep us safe, or was it just to keep your _position_ safe?” he accused.

“Both,” she admitted. “Look, you’re right. It was a lie. I lied to you. I lied to everyone...because I was a coward. You deserved to know the truth about who I was.”

He made a sound of disgust and began pacing the room, then stopped and rounded on her, “I don’t care that Gar Saxon was your father, Jadzia. I’m angry because at no point in the last ten years did you think you could trust me enough to tell _me_ the truth!”

“Paz, I wanted to tell you,” she said, her voice nearly cracking with emotion. “There were so many times I tried. But how could I give you that information and ask you to keep it from the others? I did trust you. I _do_ trust you! But I couldn’t burden you with my secret.”

“Not even last night? When you told me your first name, I remembered that Gar had a daughter named Jadzia. Kriffing hell - I MET you! We were just kids, but he introduced me to you after one of his speeches.”

“I don’t...he did?” she stammered, unable to recall the encounter.

She had been forced to meet so many people over the years, it all ran together. She was always told to flash a pretty smile and offer her hand politely, as if they were some sort of royalty. 

“I was twelve. I kissed your hand,” he said, his voice low and distant. “I remember thinking you were really pretty.”

“I should have told you last night,” she said, quietly. “I was beginning to believe you might be dead, but a part of me still clung to the idea that maybe you would come back and get us out of this. But when they dragged you in here, I was more relieved that you were alive than I was disappointed that rescue was no longer an option. I didn’t want to spoil it the moment you regained consciousness by introducing myself as Jadzia Saxon. That’s the thing with keeping secrets - the longer you hold them close, the harder it is to let them go. 

Listen to me. I understand that I’ve broken your trust in me, Paz. I understand that I’ve lost your respect. Truth be told, I don’t even respect myself anymore. I thought I could be a better leader than my father, but my actions have led us to an even more desperate place.

I allowed myself to be ruled by fear. I deluded myself into thinking that I had made a fresh start, but all I did was drag my insecurities along with me - and now our people have paid the ultimate price for it. I should have listened to you back then. Everything you warned me could happen, _did_ happen. Now they’re all gone, and the responsibility lies once more at the feet of a Saxon.”

Her emotions had been building as she allowed herself to voice the truth. She had told him that she couldn’t let herself believe that their people might be dead. But that wasn’t true. The thought that they were the last two Mandalorians had been pressing on her mind since last night. She thought it would be freeing to say it out loud, but as the words spilled from her mouth, they turned back and pierced her like so many knives. The full consequences of her cowardice and failure were laid out before her, and the cost was more than she could bear. Before her tears could let down, she turned her back to him and faced the front of the cell. 

She would not sob in front of him. She would not manipulate him into pity by letting him see her sorrow. She took slow, deep breaths and willed her body to cease its trembling. She clenched her teeth to still her quivering chin. Pressing her fingernails into her palms, she fought for control. 

She was so focused on maintaining her composure, she did not hear the soft thud of his boots as he came up behind her. When the weight of his hands pressed on her shoulders, she almost jumped in surprise. His grip was firm, but not painful. There was no threat in it - not that she expected such from him. The fingers of his left hand pulled backward as the heel of his other hand pushed, forcing her to turn toward him. She kept her face level as she turned, staring straight ahead at the bars, then the wall, then the center of his chest. 

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She swallowed, but refused to comply.

“Look at me,” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper.

His hands slid from her shoulders to the sides of her neck, his thumbs gently pushing her chin higher. Keeping her eyes lowered, she blinked, a traitorous tear escaping from the corner of one. He brushed it away and tilted his head to the side, trying to intercept her field of vision. Finally, she looked at him, following his gaze as he raised his head once more. 

“This,” he said, jutting his chin to the cell walls, “Is not your fault. You have been a good and capable leader. And you’re wrong, I still respect you. And I will still follow you.”

“No, I can’t lead anymore. I won’t.”

“Jadzia, when we get out of here, our people will still need you.”

“ _If_ we get out of here. _If_ our people are alive. They deserve to be led by a true warrior, not a coward.”

“You aren’t a coward. How can someone choose this life and be a coward?” he asked, repeating words she had once said to him. “Yes, you should have revealed who you were, but I understand why you didn’t. Your father’s actions don’t define you. You _have_ restored honor to the Saxon name.”

He said it with such conviction that she felt as if part of her damaged soul had been mended.

“I’m sorry, Paz. Those two words aren’t nearly enough to make up for what I’ve done, but it’s all I have to offer right now.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. But I forgive you, if that’s what you need to hear.”

She closed her eyes, her chin dropping in relief. Her forehead touched his chest and she felt a moment’s reluctance to move it. Then one of his hands cupped the back of her head and coaxed her to lay her cheek against him. She hesitated, still uncomfortable with such an intimacy though part of her longed for the comfort he offered. 

“It’s okay. Just c'mere,” his deep voice was warm and disarming.

She gave in and leaned against him. His arms came up around her shoulders and wrapped her up snuggly. How long had it been since someone had held her like this?

 _A long time._

How long had it been since someone she cared about had held her like this?

_Longer._

She sank into him, her arms finding their way around his waist. She could feel his heart thumping beneath her ear, slow and steady. His skin radiated its heat, warming every inch of her that was pressed against it. A part of her was acutely aware of their lack of clothing, but she pushed those concerns aside. This was Paz, after all. He was her friend. He was safe and honorable - a truly good man. He pressed his jaw to her temple, a day’s growth of beard gently scratching her skin.

“They’re not dead,” he whispered.

“How do you know?” she asked, wanting to grab hold of any hope he could offer her.

“Because Gideon said that he needs us alive,” he said, pausing to check the volume of his voice. “And I think I know why.”

She froze, then pushed up onto her toes to put her mouth closer to his ear, “Why?”

He shifted his hold on her, his forearm wrapping around her head and concealing his mouth from view, “He doesn’t want us at all. It’s Din he wants...and whatever that thing was that he stole from them. We’re the bait.

Think about it. Din takes off with an asset from some Imperial client; escapes with our help; and six months later a Moff shows up and _gases_ our people instead of killing them outright. He keeps you down here but doesn’t ask any questions. I show up and take out a bunch of his troopers and all he does is beat me and throw me in here. If two prisoners are good for bait, forty-one are better. He is going to make Din choose between all of us and whatever he took.”

The pieces fit together. But knowing Gideon’s plan - assuming Paz was right - did not make her feel much better.

“If you’re right, Din will certainly come back. Once he does, we’re all dead.”

“Give him a little credit. He’s not going to just show up without a plan. He’s been out there for a long time, I’m sure he’s made some friends along the way.”

“Friends? He’s a good guy, but not the most sociable,” she noted, gripping his shoulders to help her balance on her toes.

“We just have to have faith in him, ‘cause he’s about the only chance we’ve got of making it out of here alive.”

“All the same, we should probably have a plan for getting out of here on our own.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too,” he said, his breath hot on her ear. 

“This is why I made you Captain. What’s your plan?”

“You might want to hold onto your accolades for now. It’s more like forty percent of a plan,” he pulled back just enough for her to see him stick his tongue nervously into the corner of his slightly upturned mouth.

“And?” she prompted under her breath.

“And I don’t think you’re going to like it,” he warned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did it again. This epilogue was supposed to be this short little thing just to reassure you all that that not all the Mandalorians were dead. And then I threw in some character development...like 35 pages of character development. Sorry, not sorry. 
> 
> The sequel to Belonging will be primarily written from Din's perspective. But due to the increase in characters and having to cover a couple different locations simultaneously, I will require a second POV to write from. Jadzia will be that second perspective, and perhaps one other character if necessary - Brice maybe. In any case, buckle up, because Allegiance is going to be a lot more fast-paced action.
> 
> Also, for those who are sticklers for details like me, I am well aware that Paz Vizsla is credited as Paz "Vizla" in the show. Now, there's a lot of different possible explanations for this. It could have been a typo. He might be from a different branch of the same family that has a slightly different name spelling (which is very common in Scottish clan names). Or, he might be completely unrelated to Clan Vizsla altogether. But given that Jon Favreau voiced both Paz "Vizla" and Pre Vizsla, and you can't read three paragraphs into any articles on Mandalorian history without hitting some Vizsla or another, I decided to make an executive decision and say it was a typo...because it's my story and I can. So Paz is a Vizsla. And just the like the dog breed of the same name, he's a typical hound: intelligent, reliable, trustworthy, tenacious, loyal, and surprisingly cuddly. Of course, like all hounds, he also occasionally pees where he's not supposed to and is prone to bouts of jealousy when ignored too long. ;)


End file.
